Punch
by gythia
Summary: The further adventures of Capt. Carla Punch of Whitestar 97. B5/ Time Yarns crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Punch

The further adventures of Capt. Carla Punch of Whitestar 97.

Story sequence: 1. The Loribond; 2. Dark Horse; 3. Whitestar 97; 4. Dalshon; 5. Punch.

The ship was sleekly aerodynamic, reminiscent of a seabird. Its hull patterning seemed to glow with an inner blue light, like the crystalline walls of the Windsword clan fortress on Minbar. It glided silently through space in its assigned patrol corridor between the territories of two Allied races.

Inside, Whitestar 97 was not silent. The crew was cheering. Well, some of them were cheering, some were attempting to applaud politely human-fashion, and a few were chuckling at Firuun's good-natured comment to the affect that it was about time. The Captain had just announced that she had finally passed her quals and was now a rated hyperspace pilot.

Carla waved down the crowd. "Thank you everyone. Before we start the weekly denn'bok tournament, I have another announcement to make. By our example set in the battle against the raiders, we have shown that military caste pilots and gunners do get better performance out of the Whitestar class vessel than its normal religious caste crews. And by our example after the battle, we've shown that being able to assemble a ground strike team from a Whitestar's crew greatly increases the ship's versatility in the types of missions it can handle. Therefore, Entilza Delenn has decided that the next Whitestar to be commissioned, Whitestar 98, will have a mixed crew of military and religious caste, with the coveted officer's posts of pilot and gunner to be awarded to members of the military caste. Well done. Well done, warriors of Whitestar 97. I'm proud of you."

There was more cheering, louder this time and with no laughter mixed in. That battle had cost the lives of friends and kinsman. Acting as a dalshon, Carla had sung the Minbari office of the dead for them, in one of the most solemn and least ceremonious rituals the Minbari ever invented.

When the cheering died away, Carla announced the beginning of the sparring matches. The first few rounds took place simultaneously in various parts of the ship: small rooms, large rooms, corridors, anywhere one could swing a Minbari Fighting Pike. Carla thought it was a good idea to get the participants used to fighting in narrow hallways and in rooms with obstructions such as the sleeping room with its tilted sleeping platforms.

She also directed that the crew fight in their normal uniforms instead of special workout gear or martial arts uniforms. She said if you can't fight in your regular clothes you can't fight. Since Minbari did not sweat, that did not pose a problem for the ship's laundry facilities.

As had become the custom aboard Whitestar 97 ever since Firuun's special denn'bok tournament at the Clan Imbalo fortress, the Captain would fight only once today: crossing Pikes with Capt. Carla Punch was the winner's prerogative.

When Firuun entered the tournament, he usually won. Size, strength, reach, and years of experience carried the day, even against agile young warriors who practiced a lot more often. But today Firuun had the conn while the rest of the bridge crew was off enthusiastically hitting each other with metal poles.

Today the winner was a young Windsword named Nelonn. His military specialty was fightercraft maintenance, which in human terms would have been a naval rating's job. But although Carla persisted in thinking of having "officers and crew" aboard her ship, among the Minbari, warrior caste was warrior caste. They did not have any such distinction. Her own peculiar career path, from Gropo sergeant to Ranger ship captain, was only remarkable to the Minbari because of the strange life path she had taken to get from one point to the other.

So this young warrior, slightly winded from his previous battles today, took his place in the ring without a moment's thought about an enlisted facing an officer. The wary respect in his eyes was entirely for Carla's reputation for killing Minbari with a denn'bok.

Not that she had even come close to that fit of berserk rage she had experienced at the Battle of Tifar since then. These days, after acting as dalshon to the dying Comac, she was at peace.

But she still enjoyed fighting enough to grin evilly as she extended her Pike.

The crew encircled the two combatants in the large practice room. They grew hushed as the match began.

Carla and Nelonn moved crabwise around the ring, like folk dancers doing the grapevine. They tested each other's reactions with numerous feints and half-speed clashes. Their denn'boks clanged together again and again.

As they moved closer they started throwing combinations, speeding up, and mixing in real strikes at targets such as the legs or head. Each strike was blocked, or countered, or ducked, or backed away from.

On first glance, the two opponents looked badly mismatched. Nelonn was of average height for a Minbari, which made him only a few centimeters taller than Carla, not counting the spiky military caste headbone. But he was heavily muscled and had the characteristic stockiness of the Minbari warrior, due to the dense, broad-shouldered skeleton. He was young and quick, and had been trained in the denn'bok since early childhood. He wore the black armor of a Minbari warrior like he had been born for it, which, of course, he had.

Carla was a graying human female who had recently lost more weight than was good for her, leaving her badly in need of a tailor for her Anla'shok uniform. As she gripped her Pike, her knuckles stuck out in a way that implied arthritic old age and frailty, although it was merely due to thinness.

Her crew knew that her rapidly reduced size was because of being shot in the stomach in the same battle in which she had killed three Minbari gunmen with her Pike. So among those who were inclined to bet on this match, the odds favored Carla. Nelonn was a wizard with the denn'bok, but he was a recent addition to the crew, replacing one of those who died in the battle with the raiders. He had never been in real combat. And Carla Punch had been killing Minbari before he was born.

They fought at full speed now. Each time their denn'boks clanged together, Carla's horse stance rolled as if she were riding the waves on a sailing ship, taking the jarring strength of Nelonn's blows.

Carla feinted a one-armed denn'bok strike, drawing Nelonn's Pike out of line, and then she left hooked him in the jaw.

Nelonn staggered for a moment, then fire lit his eyes and he switched easily from the staff forms to a sword style, both hands a third of the way up the denn'bok, guiding with the right, power from the left, a swing like a cut, riposting from Carla's block and driving forwards in a thrust with the ring shape of the end of the denn'bok pointing right at Carla's stomach.

She twisted out of the way. Far too close now to bring her Pike around, she elbowed him in what in a human would be the kidney. But it was not a vital spot for a Minbari, and he turned inside her guard and grabbed her hand, trying for an arm lock.

Carla fell out of the lock, grimacing as her bad knee came down on the deck. She kicked him in the groin to make him lose his grip on her arm, then rolled on the ground and popped back up. Her Pike was momentarily out of defensive position as she came out of the roll.

Nelonn saw the opening and struck fast and hard. Carla did not quite get her denn'bok around to block in time. Nelonn's blow landed on her left forearm with a sickening crack like a dry twig snapping.

Carla roared an obscenity that would be anatomically impossible even for the diety to whom it was addressed.

"Captain!" Nelonn gasped. He let his Pike go out of position.

A true Windsword, Nelonn knew better than to apologize for victory. Nor did he ask if she was alright, since it was obvious her arm was broken. He just stood there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, the Pike forgotten in his hand.

Carla swung her Pike with her other hand and struck the back of his leg, sweeping him off his feet. She reversed her denn'bok and brought the opposite end down to his neck, stopping just slightly above his throat.

"Never write off an opponent because of an injury," Carla said. "If he's still standing, he can attack. If he's on the ground but has one hand and a sidearm, he can attack. Even if he looks dead, he might be unconscious, and will attack when he wakes up."

Carla closed down her Fighting Pike and put it back on her belt. Only then did she hunch over and cradle her arm. "Good fight, Nelonn," she told the wide-eyed crewer who was still on the ground. "But I won." She gasped a few times, rapidly, getting the pain under control. "I expect better next time."

The ship's doctor rushed out of the crowd to attend to her arm. He hustled her off to sickbay.

Nelonn stood up. "What happened?" he asked no one in particular.

A few of his crewmates and kinsman congratulated him on doing so well at his first shipboard denn'bok tournament. He thanked them blankly.

The tactical officer, Khunnier, Carla's fellow Ranger, came to him as everyone else was filing out, and advised, "Go on and see her. It is alright."

Nelonn went to sickbay and peeked in. The Captain had managed to keep her jacket intact despite the doctor's obvious intentions to cut her sleeve off, as evidenced by the abandoned shears on the tool stand.

She had her sleeve rolled up, exposing a mottled, thin arm. Old white scratch-scars stood out starkly on top of the rapidly developing bruises. The doctor applied a medical immobilizer, a shiny contraption that was basically a high tech splint.

He injected her with healing accelerants, and then with her standard dose of vitamins, which she had been receiving since being shot in the stomach. The doctor asked, "How is the pain now, on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you've ever known?"

"Oh, three or four I guess," Carla said.

"So not very bad?"

"Doctor, that's a really lousy way to evaluate pain. It's subjective based on past experiences."

"Well, yes it is subjective. The Earth medical book says it's standard human medicine."

"It is. It's just—doctor, think about it a minute." Carla turned away, in the way that she sometimes did when her memories flooded her and she did not want to look at a Minbari face for a moment. She spotted Nelonn in the doorway.

Whatever she had been about to remind the doctor about, she did not say it in front of the impressionable young warrior.

She gestured him in with her good arm. "Doctor, if it's safe, I would be only too happy to have some more painkillers, if that's what you're trying to ask me. I have absolutely nothing to prove."

The doctor gave her another injection and she sighed and relaxed into the slanted medical bed.

"Hello, Nelonn. I'm going to be fine, as you can see."

"I never doubted it, Captain." His voice and manner were subdued.

"Let me guess," Carla said. "You were taught to back off in a friendly sparring match if your opponent was hurt."

"Yes. I was taught to fight, but I was also taught compassion. Is that—not acceptable on a real warship?"

"Nelonn, you hang onto your compassion. What would happen if everyone who had any left the warrior caste? Can you imagine what kind of place a base full of completely compassion free warriors would be like?"

"No," Nelonn said, wide eyed again.

"Tifar. That's what. You keep that heart of yours filled with compassion. Just don't let it get you killed. On the battlefield you can only afford to have mercy for an enemy who has surrendered. Not before. Do you understand the difference?"

"I think so, Captain. Yes. And Captain? It's an honor to learn from you."

Carla smiled. "It's my honor to be entrusted with this ship and crew, and the lives of young people like you. And I'm going to do my damnedest to see you learn what you need to learn to survive."

Nelonn bowed Minbari-fashion, hands in a triangle over the heart, and left sickbay.

Carla closed her eyes and let the dreamless sleep of strong drugs take her away from all care.

The End


	2. Chapter 2

Punch 2

Carla stared at the clump of brown and grey hair caught in the brush. She ran her hand over her head, looking for the hole, and another hank came off in her hand.

She suppressed the sudden spike of fear and went immediately to sickbay. The ship's doctor was just getting in. Main shift had all just come off sleep cycle.

Carla held out the clumps. "I thought you said the Untika medics had decontaminated us all properly."

"They did," said the healer, wide-eyed. He reached for her arm to guide her to a diagnostic bed, then halted as if he could not remember which of her arms was broken. He converted the movement into a gesture of invitation.

Carla hopped up on the slanty Minbari diagnostic bed with a slightly sinking feeling. Like the rest of the crew except for herself and Firuun, Renbor of Clan Dunn was little more than a kid to Carla's eyes. He had of course been thoroughly trained to be a military caste ship's doctor, at a reputable Minbari university. Trained to treat Minbari.

Renbor scanned for radiation, took blood samples, and generally poked and prodded her for a while. Finally he said, "It's not radiation. It's a vitamin deficiency. I do not—" understand, Carla was fairly sure he had been about to say. "The vitamin injections I've been giving you are rated for human use. The computer says they're both safe and healthful. But apparently not complete, for human requirements. We'll have to requisition some actual human supplies."

"That'll be easy," Carla said. "We're going to be putting in at Babylon 5 at the end of the week. See to all your resupply needs there. I was going to make a general announcement to the crew today anyway, as soon as Firuun worked up a leave schedule."

"Oh, good. I'll contact the quartermaster's office."

Carla left sickbay and went to her personal shower stall. It was an incredible luxury to have on a Whitestar, and it was also the only truly private place on the ship. She had to do something about her hair.

She started by washing it, and several more clumps came out. Carla cleared the steam off the small mirror. That area was not going to be salvageable with a comb-over. She shaved it off. It took a long time, since the razor was meant for her legs.

When she had cleared the whole area where the clumps had fallen out, she looked in the mirror and realized she looked vaguely Minbari. She soap-sculpted the back part of her hair up in spikes.

"I can't show up anywhere in human space looking like this," she murmured. "I'd be accused of having Minbari War Syndrome and hauled off to the mental hospital again. I'd rather die."

In one way, the GoMAPM Adjustment Center was worse than Tifar. She had no side. No one was on her side; she was alone in a way she had never been alone before, not even in solitary. There was no place to go if she somehow managed to escape; she was already on Earth.

In the Earth military prison, she had still had a side, even though she had been wrongly convicted of betraying it. She had hope that they would see the truth and let her go. Not that she didn't feel guilty; she did. But she knew whose fault it really was: the other side. The Minbari.

The lawyer, Hernandez, had seen the pattern. He had come for all the loribond victims. There had been a mass retrial, and they were all found 'not guilty by reason of mental reprogramming.'

And then came the real betrayal. They didn't let her go. All the loribond victims were sent to insane asylums. Civilian ones. Kicked out of the military. Outcast. Out-caste, as the Minbari saw it. And then there was no hope left at all.

The mental hospital paralleled the Tifar military prison in many ways, starting with the enforcement of absolute obedience from the inmates. They were expected to compliantly swallow pills that dizzied their minds, had awful, painful, and humiliating side effects, and made it nearly impossible to think. It was like the Level Four Test, every single day. Like torturing herself on command.

Every act of defiance was punished, and even some things the Minbari would never have thought of punishing someone for, like screaming. At least Comac had let her scream. She had never appreciated being allowed to scream before. But if she screamed in the hospital, they grabbed her and hauled her off to solitary confinement. The White Room.

There were worse punishments, of course. Styled as treatments, but even in the honey-slow mental state the drugs left her in, it was easy enough to identify pain as punishment. The most feared one was like the sucker wire torture, except it did not leave any marks because they attached the electrodes with tape instead of suction cups.

Eventually Carla had reached a point where she wanted to die. She had never tried to kill herself on Tifar—except for levels one and two of the loribonding process, of course-- although some other prisoners had. The utter hopelessness of life in the mental hospital had broken her worse than Comac had.

She had started throwing up the pills and hoarding them. She knew they had to be toxic, given the shaking they produced. She did not know how many she would need to do the job, so she decided to save up a whole weeks' worth.

Ironically, as she stopped digesting the pills every day, her mind cleared. And she had hope again, hope that the torment would end at last. And that allowed her to exist there without fits of screaming and crying. It allowed her to follow the rules and do everything they wanted, and they noticed. And thought she was cured. And let her go.

Cured of what, she could never figure out. There was no cure for a loribond. It was for life. But it did not ever really matter to her keepers at the mental hospital why she was there or what her diagnosis was. All patients were the same to them.

Carla blinked as the water ran out and she felt the grind and hum in the stall that meant the water was starting to recycle through the osmifier, and the waste products baled into easily disposable bricks. She looked in the mirror and realized she had kept on shaving, on a kind of automatic pilot, after being lost in her reverie. She had taken it all off.

"God. Now I look Centauri."

Inoja the pirate, Carla thought. The feel of the neck snapping under her hands. It had felt good. Horribly, deliciously good. Or was that just hindsight? At the time, she was so shell shocked she hardly felt anything.

"Inoja deserved to die," Carla told herself firmly.

She dried off and got into her baggy uniform. She was going to have to shop for a new shirt and pants to go under her uniform vest, anyway, maybe she could get herself a wig. Make that a sweater and pants. She was cold again already. She was cold all the time now.

"My body is eating itself," Carla breathed. She straightened. "That's enough damn self pity. I am a Ranger. I walk in the dark places, where no one else will go." She shook her head. Actually, she flew around on a ship. The secret Anla'shok hiding in the byways and spyways of the galaxy was the old model.

"The darkest place I ever walk is the inside of my own mind."

\

Sheridan set down his papers and looked up at Delenn as she packed a small case.

"Do you really need to send a Ranger undercover to investigate this?"

"Yes. I do."

"It sounds perfectly harmless. A colony for abused women; safety in secrecy. I admit their no-communications rule is a little extreme, but like the old saying goes, it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

"Things that sound innocent on the surface can conceal the darkest horrors. I have learned that lesson."

"Oh?"

Delenn zipped up the suitcase and sat down on the couch next to Sheridan. "When I was Satai, the Grey Council often voted on general principles of things, without bothering with all the details. I understand the Earth Congress does the same thing, voting on ideas and making deals without actually reading the laws they are passing."

"Yeah, that's true. Probably not a good idea, when you put it that way."

"Once, an important company had to pull a product off the market. A product they had been producing in mass quantities. The representatives of the worker caste pitched a program for the military to buy up what was left, to spare the company and its workers the impact of the banning of the product. This product was a pharmaceutical, the side effect of which might have a military use."

"Oh-oh. That sounds ominous. Chemical warfare?"

"Not in the way you mean, no. Understand, John, this program was pitched to me as an excuse for mercy, and a foundation for friendship. A way to make the worker caste happy, and preserve lives that would otherwise have been lost, and nothing sinister at all. At the time, I was looking for any excuse to save human lives. I deeply regretted the order of no mercy, and the entire war, but by then it had taken on a life of its own. I had recently met Kosh and found out that my own people would be doomed in the coming Shadow War if I did not find a way to save the human race. And at the time, I was not sure I would be able to get our side to surrender. I thought human prisoners of war might be all that was left of the human race in a year's time. So I jumped at the chance when such an excuse was given to me. I genuinely thought they were planning to make friends with the human subjects. Create the kind of accidental bonds that happened between Minbari under the influence of the drug."

"Oh no. Delenn. You're talking about loritril."

"Yes. I voted in favor of it without even asking for the details of what they planned to do with it. And my vote influenced the rest of the religious caste. It was the military caste that voted against it. They probably had a better idea of what would really happen. I should have paid more attention to their opposition, found out what it meant. At the time I thought they simply wanted to kill you all and did not want to spare any human lives. I should have investigated, until I knew exactly what I was voting on. And I won't make that mistake again."

"Well. When you put it that way. When do we leave?"

"You don't leave. You're far too public a figure now to meet with a clandestine operative and have any hope of secrecy in the mission."

"You're probably the most recognizable person in space," Sheridan objected. "Barring a few teledrama stars."

"It is your absence from Minbar that would draw attention. But I am often gone on the business of the Anla'shok."

"I noticed," he grunted. Then he decided he did not want to pursue that thought; it would only lead to an argument he could not win. "So how did this come to your attention, anyway? Since you're not on the Grey Council anymore."

"Morann came to me about it. He and I had recently discussed that mistake I made, and it was fresh in his mind. So he did not take the request at face value when he heard it. The Minbari government is being asked to turn over control of a small asteroid to New Life for this proposed safe colony. It was a mining operation once, and could be again, if costs could be kept down. The part that drew Morann's concern was that the safe colony was to be a sort of collective, operating the mine to fund its charitable works. Most of the worker caste representatives are opposed, for obvious reasons."

"Meaning the women wouldn't be paid."

"Meaning that, yes. If all five of the worker caste representatives were opposed, there would be no point in investigating, since they have an automatic majority when they agree with each other. I designed the new Grey Council that way on purpose, but sometimes it gives me pause. In any case, four are opposed, on the grounds that slave labor is illegal in Minbari space. The fifth is in favor, as it is his clan that owns the useless rock and they want the chance to sell it to the government so it can be given to New Life. He has traded favors with other members to join him in the vote, leaving Morann the only undecided Satai, the swing vote."

"Mm. Now it is sounding a little less benign. Finding a new life as a slave in a hard rock mine… Who's behind this? Do the Minbari even have that problem?"

Delenn looked away, embarrassed for her people. "Such matters are usually resolved clan to clan."

"Then this colony idea might not have many takers."

"They are primarily recruiting among humans. Which is fortunate, since the Ranger I have in mind is human. Most of the Anla'shok carry themselves in a way that would never allow them to pass for such a victim. Too self-assured, too battle-ready, too fearless, too healthy. Physically and psychologically."

"Carla."

"Yes. Capt. Carla Punch will have no trouble passing as a deeply traumatized person."

Sheridan made no reply. He had shared some of Carla's recent experiences. He had come out of them wanting to line up a hundred bad guys and slug them all in the jaw. He suspected Carla probably felt about the same. But then, she got to get into fights, so maybe she worked it out.

Sheridan wished for a moment that he was still a soldier, not a politician. He had a brief fantasy of setting his desk for ramming speed and firing his pen set at an enemy ship.

Delenn rose and picked up her case. Sheridan stood up too, and gave her a good bye hug and kiss. "If this thing turns out to be as bad as you think, save me a piece of it, huh? I'd like to get in my licks, too."

Delenn shook her head a bit, and said fondly, "You're a strange man, John."

\

"There it is," Carla announced to the bridge crew, as the holographic image of the station appeared on the ceiling of Whitestar 97. "The famous Babylon 5. Looks like a spark plug with legs."

"Receiving docking instructions, Captain," said the pilot.

"Proceed," Carla ordered. "Communications, give me all-call." She waited for the nod indicating she was on. "Attention all hands. For the duration of our stay on Babylon 5, no one is to mention my name. You do not know me. Anla'shok Khunnier is your Captain."

The pilot matched rotation and brought the ship in.

Carla tasked one of her few female crew members, a weapons technician named Milenn, to buy her some civilian clothes and bring them back to the ship. Some dark pants and a sweater that she might use as part of her Ranger uniform, but also something more civilian-looking, and a cloak with a hood, the better for Carla to disembark unnoticed.

When Milenn returned, Carla changed into the practical dark tunic and trousers Milenn had selected for her. It had trim at the collar that was almost FPFP blue, and Carla had an unexpected moment of nostalgia. She wondered if anyone would recognize her without her jacket, and without her hair, and without a good forty pounds of her.

She found out when she went to the bar where she and Firuun used to hang out and get into bar fights. The bartender welcomed her as a new customer.

She ordered a beer and sat at the bar sipping it. The screen behind the bar was tuned to a sports channel. She only managed a few sips of the beer before feeling uncomfortably full. How tiny was whatever was left of her stomach, anyway? Couldn't they have given her a bionic replacement part?

"Excuse me."

Carla turned and saw a plump Centauri male wearing what Carla would have sworn started its life as a Minbari welcoming robe.

"Er, I noticed your denn'bok. Are you a Ranger?"

Carla glanced down. Damn. She was so used to wearing it, she had not even thought about hiding it as part of her civilian disguise. "Oh. Sorry, no. Just picked it up from a second hand store, one of the only self defense weapons they let people have here."

"Oh, ah, sorry to bother you. I was hoping, well, it would have been great if there were a Centauri Ranger, you know, to let people know some of us are the good guys, you see. Actually I was hoping for some news, but anyway, it's great to meet you regardless. Um, my name's Vir."

"Carla. And I'm not Centauri, either. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh. Uh, I'll just be going now."

"It's OK," Carla said. "Join me for a drink." She had been looking for an opportunity to make friends with a Centauri, after all. She had not anticipated doing so while establishing her cover, but this was as good a time as any. If she decided to pursue the friendship when she returned, she could always correct her obfuscation later.

Vir joined her at the bar, looking much less nervous as he ordered a human cocktail. His movements smoothed out.

"Whatever that news was you wanted, it must be something if it made you stammer like that."

"Well, you see, I have a friend who joined the Anla'shok. But he's not exactly their most popular guy at the moment."

Vir's drink arrived and he knocked back half of it at once. Then he stared into it, lost in some memory.

Carla decided to try out her cover story. Other people in the bar might be listening, and this was a good chance to get started on establishing her bona fides. "You don't know how nice it is to be able to talk to a guy in a bar and not have to ask anyone's permission, or look over my shoulder every other word."

She did not know why Entilza wanted her to pretend to be running away from an evil boyfriend, but whatever the mission was, she would be briefed soon enough, when Entilza Delenn arrived. It was actually kind of—well, kind of cool—to find out that the days of the secret Rangers were not over after all. They were just so secret even the rest of the Anla'shok didn't know about it.

Above the bar noise, and the crowd roar from the televised sporting event, Carla thought she heard someone scream. There it was again, from out in the corridor. It was Nelonn's voice.

She hurried out as fast as she could without attracting attention. Nelonn was backed against a wall, wide-eyed and gibbering. "Shadows!" he screeched.

Khunnier was trying to grab his shoulders, shouting, "There's nothing there, Nelonn!"

Nelonn ducked out of his grip and pointed down the empty hallway. "Right there!"

Damn her cover, this was her crew. Carla pulled her hood on; that would have to be good enough . "Calm down. The Shadows are gone from the galaxy."

Khunnier said, "You're hallucinating. Somebody gave you something at the party."

Carla directed Khunnier, "Get him back to the ship."

"No," Nelonn moaned. "I didn't take anything. I just talked with sweet beautiful Shona and played that weird party game."

"What party game?" Khunnier asked.

"A human game. Russian Roulette. Shona said it was exciting."

"Damn. Get him to sickbay, and pray to Valen I'm wrong."

"Shadows!" shrieked Nelonn, and took off running. Khunnier and Carla chased him. Nelonn made it to an elevator and he was gone.

"We've got to find him fast," Carla said. "Get local security. And get them on finding this Shona woman too. Have her arrested."

"On what charge?"

"Start with possession of Dream."

Khunnier made an inarticulate noise. "Are you sure? There are other hallucinogens, and other reasons Nelonn might be suddenly attracted to a woman at a party."

"The game. It's to simulate shooting yourself. It's the Level One Test. She was bonding him right out in public."

"I'll take this way." Khunnier raced off, and Carla raced off in the other direction, looking for station security. They had each only gone a few steps when Carla heard Khunnier call out to someone.

Carla turned around. "Thank Valen and my lucky stars."

Khunnier had found the station commander, Lochley. His rapid explanation and his Anla'shok uniform produced instant results.

Lochley keyed her link and called her security chief. "Mr. Allen, listen to this." She extended her link to Khunnier. "Talk to the hand."

With a sigh of relief, Carla melted back into the dark places of Babylon 5.

End of Punch 2. Story continues in Punch 3.


	3. Chapter 3

Punch 3

The mission briefing was almost over. They were in Whitestar 97's viewing room, but they were not using the holographic displays.

"This beacon is capable of getting a signal through a local jumpgate." Delenn held up a cylinder in a sterile bag. "Your Whitestar will stand by in hyperspace waiting for your signal. You will signal every morning with a three hour time window, and you will also signal each time you enter or leave hyperspace."

Carla nodded. It made sense; that way her ship could track her and follow her wherever she went.

Delenn continued, "If you fail to signal, your ship will come to pull you out. This beacon uses your body as the antenna, so it must be implanted under the skin. Our scientists say sending the signal is uncomfortable, but it is a simple pulse transmission and only lasts a second. New Life forbids communications devices, so we could not risk giving you a larger, nonconcealable unit."

"I understand," Carla said. Given the object's shape, she was relieved she was not expected to hide it in the obvious place.

"Then have your ship's doctor implant this. Test the signal before you leave the ship. And—" For a moment, Delenn looked like she was going to tell Carla something personal and embarrassing. But then Delenn shook her head shallowly and finished, "Good hunting."

"Thank you, Entilza."

Carla brought the device to Renbor. He nerve-blocked her broken forearm and implanted the beacon in it. Her left arm below the elbow was a dead weight, completely numb. She did not like the idea of having her arm flopping around, so she folded her right arm around it and carried it pressed to her body.

Next she went up to the bridge. Firuun stood up from the Captain's seat when she entered, but Carla did not sit down. She was in civilian clothes, including the cloak with the hood thrown back, and was about to leave the ship.

"Is the receiver ready?"

"It's ready, Captain," Firuun boomed, grinning. He had enjoyed the engineering challenge of patching in the pulse beacon frequency to the ship's communications array. Firuun gestured to the communications station. "The board will sound a tone when it receives the signal. We're ready to test it any time."

"OK. Testing." Carla dug her fingers into her arm and pinched the two ends of the device. A wave of heat and vertigo passed through her. White pain blotted out her mind, and she started to fall. Firuun caught her. She heard the tone from the board, and an odd whimpering noise. Was there a puppy on the ship?

Carla regained her feet and gasped several times, and clutched the material of her tunic over her heart. "Uncomfortable," Carla said. "Right." And if Entilza ever tells me something is going to be painful, I'll ask for a general anesthetic.

"Are you alright?" Firuun asked.

"Next time I'll do that lying down," Carla said. She let go of her shirt, and let out a shaky sigh. "Nng, I can't believe I'm going to have to do that every day. Um, you can let go now, Firuun."

Firuun released his hold on her upper arms, and put his hand over the crumpled fabric she had just let go of. Heart-touch. "Good luck. Stay safe, Carla."

Carla returned the gesture. "Thank you, Firuun. I wish I didn't have to leave while Nelonn is still on the loose. But Entilza Delenn says the Council votes in 11 days and they need my report by then."

"I've already spoken with the station's new chief medical officer. She's contacting Dr. Franklin on Earth for the latest treatments. When they find Nelonn, he'll be in better hands than he would be here."

Carla nodded. "I know." She and Firuun were still heart-touching. This was going on a little too long for a good-luck gesture between Captain and First Officer. Like a hug, it meant something different if it lasted more than a minute. Carla dropped her hand and stepped back, heat rushing into her face. Great. Just great. What a wonderful time to realize her attraction to Firuun was not a one way street.

\

They found Nelonn kicking a wall and pounding on it with his Minbari Fighting Pike.

"Easy there," said the security crewman. "Put down the weapon."

"Shadow!" Nelonn shrieked, sounding every bit as young as he was. He pointed to the wall. "Shoot it, shoot it!"

The cop moved forward, his PPG trained on Nelonn. "Back off and let me take care of the Shadow. OK?"

Nelonn stepped back, quivering alertly like a pointer.

The policeman made a gesture toward the wall. "There. It's contained for now. I'll have the specialists come pick it up. Now put down the weapon and come with me."

"You're toying with me!" Nelonn raged. "You're on their side!"

He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, swinging the denn'bok.

The cop got off one shot, which hit Nelonn in the shoulder.

Nelonn cried out in pain, but kept on going, shifting his Pike to a one-handed grip as the Captain had showed him. He struck at his opponent's gun hand and knocked the PPG flying.

Nelonn could have reversed and crushed his skull, but he thought he had a more dangerous opponent behind him. So instead he pulled sharply back on his denn'bok to strike at the Shadow to the rear.

The policeman took that moment to drop and roll to recover his gun with his unbroken hand. When Nelonn started to swing forward again, the security crewman shot him in the thigh and dropped him.

Nelonn still had hold of the Pike, and twirled it defensively.

The cop stood back out of the way and called for backup to bring a stunner, and for Medlab to bring a gurney. When the second cop showed up, he stunned Nelonn, and kicked the Pike away from his unconscious body.

When Nelonn woke up in Medlab, he found himself hooked up to a IV in one arm and a machine pumping his blood away in the other arm. Both arms were tied down.

"You're awake," said a dark human female. "We're trying an experimental treatment, replacing your blood. It would not help those already bonded, but it can prevent a bond from forming."

She checked a sample of the blood coming out of him. "That's got it. The drug has cleared your bloodstream." She disconnected him from both machines. "Now we see if this worked. This won't hurt a bit." She took a sample of tissue from his arm.

"Nnn!" Nelonn exclaimed, the Minbari equivalent of 'ow.'

The doctor processed the sample, and her confident smile faltered. She came back over to Nelonn. "I'm sorry. It's too late."

"Too late for what? Am I going to die?" Nelonn enunciated.

"No, no. Too late to prevent the bond from forming. If we had gotten to you sooner…"

"I do not understand," Nelonn said his best English phrase.

"You have shisep in your body cells."

Nelonn gasped. That was a Minbari word, and he knew exactly what it meant.

He was afraid he was going to start leaking, much to his shame, and he tried to cover his eyes. But the gesture came up short as the tether bit into his wrist. The unexpected pain instantly converted shame and grief to rage. He yelled Minbari warrior curses.

"Easy, easy," said the doctor.

"My life is over! Shona! Shona did this to me! I will find her and…" and do nothing, he realized.

He started bawling, and this time he wasn't even embarrassed, as the full horror of his situation dawned on him. She had drugged him, bonded him, tested him, and even phrased him. He remembered her saying, 'Hey cutie, play this game for me. It's exciting. Take this pistol. That's right. Hey cutie, pull the trigger.'

"In Valen's name, don't let it be," Nelonn groaned. It was bad enough to be loribonded to some stranger he met at a party. But it was worse. 'Hey cutie' was his phrase.

The human doctor patted his good shoulder. "You're going to be alright."

But that was just a platitude. Nelonn knew he was never going to be alright again. He was going to be a brittle, isolated, rage-filled old sea dog who found joy only in combat. Like the Captain.

End of Punch 3. Story continues in Punch 4.


	4. Chapter 4

Punch 4

Carla walked into the nondescript office in Downbelow clutching a flyer. She pulled her hood back, revealing the patchy grey fuzz of regrowth.

"I heard you help women," Carla murmured to the rather butchy receptionist. Her nervous hesitation was real, but normally she would have tried to conceal it. "Women who, who need help."

"We do," replied the butch. "Here's a list of all the groups we offer. Do you need shelter?"

"Yes."

"Then you're in luck, there's no waiting list this week. Fill out these forms when you have a chance. There's a group starting right now, if you'd like to join in on it."

"Uh, OK. Sure."

Carla walked into the indicated room, full of uncomfortable castoff chairs, and sat down in a circle of women. It was a support group. That was familiar territory.

She only had to be careful to keep her story in mind. She was using her real identity for this infiltration mission, for two reasons: because New Life had famously turned away a reporter trying to get inside under a false name, and because Carla's real personal history fit easily into her cover. From the point of view of the human authorities, she had disappeared into Downbelow less than a year ago and had not been seen in human space since. Her entire career as a Ranger left no traces in EarthGov records, which New Life might be able to check. She had been on the news a couple of times, but her name had not been mentioned, and she looked significantly different now.

Today's topic was childhood, and how it related to one's current problems. That seemed like a safe enough topic. When it her turn, Carla ventured a story about her absent father, and one great week when he took her sailing, and how her family moved a lot because she was a military brat.

The group leader, a tall, well-muscled woman named Patty, said, "So your father was never there for you, and you wanted his approval, but even when you got it he related to you as a commanding officer, captain of a small rented yacht."

"You don't understand. I was proud of his service. And I was proud to serve in my turn. I loved being a Marine."

"And did going into the military win his approval?"

"He was proud of me. For a while. Until… well, the obvious, of course. But even before I slaughtered my unit, he disapproved of my return. He blamed me for accepting early release. Accepting. Like it was a choice."

Patty tried and failed to keep the shock off her face. She must have heard any number of terrible stories, but this one caught her by surprise. "Excuse me, before you did what?"

"Oh." Carla looked around at the group. All women, mostly human. There was also a Brakiri, a pair of large-headed aliens whose race name Carla forgot, and yes, a Minbari, too. "I forgot you didn't already know. This is the first support group I've been in since the Loribond Victims' Support Group."

Carla carefully did not look at the Minbari; she was at peace now, and did not want to see the pity and guilt she expected.

Patty was old enough to remember the war, but apparently she had not been a news junkie. "Would you like to share with us what kind of support group that was?"

Carla shifted uncomfortably in the scratched metal seat. Except for the latest thing with that poor kid Nelonn— for whom she was very worried—Carla was thoroughly tired of the subject of loribonding. She had literally spent years going over her experiences with the other survivors, and had no desire to explain it to these civilians. She kept it short. "They drugged us and made us do things."

"Who?" someone asked.

Carla paused a moment to consider how to give a briefing that would answer everyone's questions and put an end to the subject, and let the next person go ahead.

The silence dragged on until Patty said, "It's OK if you don't want to share everything yet. This is only your first time here, and you don't know us yet." Patty turned to the next woman, to say it was her turn.

Down the row, the Minbari woman got up and started for the door, bent over as if to make herself small. "No belong, I. For human, this." She cast a sidelong glance at Carla.

Carla called to her in Minbari. "Wait. Don't leave because of me."

The Minbari female straightened up and looked at her in surprise, and answered in the same language, "You speak like—oh." She switched to the worker caste language, which Carla did not understand. Then she switched back to the warrior language. "We learned about the prisoners in school. There are trees in the public square; the teachers say they were planted by forced labor. I wanted to cut them down, but they wouldn't let me."

Carla shook her head. "We liked planting the trees. You're from Tifar?"

"Yes."

"How are things there now that the little rebellion is over?"

"Oh. You know about that. Awful, actually. Um, not in comparison, of course. I mean. Um."

Carla waved her back to the group. "You speak the military caste language much better than English. I'll translate for you, if you like."

"Thank you. You're incredibly kind." She went back to her seat. "We learned the military caste language when the base was still open. To sell things to them, you know."

When it was the Minbari's turn to speak, Carla translated her story for the group. It was the Mibari's first time there, too. "Her name is Birenn of Clan Toz. She's the daughter of a shopkeeper, and was given in an arranged marriage to another shopkeeper. He lost his business when the military base closed. There's not enough tourist traffic without the soldiers, because nobody wants to vacation on Tifar because its name is infamous." At this point of the story Carla paused a moment, and nodded, as if to say it deserved its reputation. "They came here to Babylon 5 looking for work. He couldn't find any, and they moved to Downbelow and now he makes her dance at a strip club. She wants to leave him. She doesn't want to turn to her clan for help because she doesn't want to admit to her family how she's been making a living. And she can't just buy a ticket to Minbar because he takes all her money, and she thinks the club owners are involved in organized crime and she's afraid to leave them too. She heard New Life can hide her somewhere the mob won't find her."

"There is a program," Patty said carefully. "For those who need to get away from here. Those details we only discuss once a person is taken into the New Life shelter here, and one's story backchecked. For the security of those we help."

Carla said, "I need that program too. If you take us both I'd be happy to help with translation, or whatever is needed."

"We'll talk about that later," said Patty.

\

Firuun and Khunnier left the bridge together. Mainshift was going off and nightshift was coming on.

They got into an elevator, and Firuun touched the stop pad. "Khunnier, you're a good friend of Carla's. And you seem to understand people and situations."

"You're about to ask me if I saw desire in Carla's eyes when the two of you heart-touched on the bridge before she left."

Firuun blew out a breath. "That obvious, huh?"

"To me," Khunnier said. "And yes. But I'd be careful if I were you. Carla made friends with you in the first place because she was afraid of Minbari, and determined to do something about it. Right?"

"Right!" Firuun boomed. "But she's long over that. I mean, she's Anla'shok. She lives here. With all of us."

"Maybe. And maybe she's still pushing herself. She wanted a Minbari friend. You're the biggest, strongest, scariest Minbari warrior she could find."

Firuun considered that for a moment. "I'm a thrill ride?"

"No. Well, in a way. Thrill is half fear."

"Half fear and half desire," Firuun concluded. He was speaking as softly as he could, now. "Meaning Carla is still afraid of me."

"I think so, yes."

Firuun sighed loudly, turned the elevator back on and resumed his normal thunderous speaking voice. "Thanks for the advice. I'll be careful. But it's not so bad. Carla would be irrational if she didn't find me a little physically intimidating. Everybody does. Every human friend I have flinches if I yell or move suddenly."

"How many human friends do you have?" Khunnier asked.

"Two."

The elevator opened, and they made their way to the galley.

Firuun said, "I wish I knew what was happening with Nelonn. As long as we're hiding out here we have to maintain radio silence."

"He's in good hands, medically."

"I should not have left him alone. I should have detailed someone to remain on the station and see to his welfare. It's my fault this happened to him."

"Your fault that a spacer on leave met a girl at a party who turned out to be of unsavory character?"

"Yes. I took a group of my kinsmen to a night club. They wouldn't let Nelonn in because he's fifteen. I told them, we're not going to drink anyway, we're Minbari. But they had their rules. We weren't in a bad part of the station, and Nelonn had his denn'bok with him, I thought he'd be fine on his own. He was going to go to the arcade."

"Fifteen. Firuun, I don't mean to question your authority on this ship or in your clan, but why is Nelonn on this ship?"

"There was an open berth, and he was next in line. And…"

"And? You're trying to turn this into a Windsword clan ship, like in the days when boys went to space as apprentices?"

"No, well, yes, but Nelonn… He's of the age when he could start to think about going away to school, but the only thing he's brilliant at is denn'bok fighting. He's a little old for the other children, and the older boys he's friends with are already here, and he doesn't actually have any close relatives at the clan fortress."

"You brought him here because he was lonely?"

"And I thought he was ready. He was ready, for his duties. He just wasn't ready for shore leave on Babylon 5."

\

She was on her way to New Life's temporary hiding place. Temporary, Patty had explained, until they got their asteroid mine, safely in Minbari space where even crazy stalker human ex-husbands feared to tread. The ones that weren't Minbari, anyway; Birenn had some reservations on that score, but had nowhere else to turn. In the meantime New Life was using a secret safehouse, Patty did not say where.

Carla was on a ship, sharing a cabin with Birenn and two humans. She had just crossed into hyperspace, and it was time to signal the Whitestar to track the ship she was on. She was lying in bed, trying to work herself up to send the signal. When she had tested it, signaling had been really, really painful, even by Carla's standards.

Carla silently mouthed, "It's the Level Four Test. I did it for Control. I can do it for Entilza. I live for the One, I die for the One."

Carla pinched the ends of the device through the flesh of her arm. The wave of disorientation and pain went through her again. She passed out and came awake gasping. At least she had not screamed.

About twenty minutes later, Patty and a technician with a handheld sensor array burst into the cabin. The technician pointed at Carla.

"Bounty hunter!" Patty snarled. All her studied empathizing fled and her face twisted up like a mad dog's. "Who are you here for?"

Carla considered for a half a second trying to pretend she did not know she had a signaling device implanted in her body. But if they took it out and looked at it, they would know it required the host's co-operation to send a signal.

Carla's denn'bok appeared in her hands as she jumped out of bed and ran at Patty. Carla aimed a knockout blow at Patty's head, but she was using the Pike one-handed; her left arm was still in a medical immobilizer. Patty was fast enough to duck.

The denn'bok hit the wall, metal on metal, and rebounded with a clang. Patty poked Carla in the eyes and Carla roared in a red rage. She swung the denn'bok with intent to kill this time, but she could not see and Patty evaded her.

The sensor tech linked in to security and gave a short code phrase, and the ship's alarm started whooping, red lights going off like pulsars. The flashing alarm lights were all Carla could see for a few seconds while her vision returned.

She heard her roommates screaming. Someone hit her in the back of the head, but Carla did not go down. She whirled the denn'bok in a defensive pattern, keeping her opponents away while her eyes adjusted to the emergency lighting.

She spotted Patty at last and swung at her.

Patty caught the end of the denn'bok, grabbed it and pulled Carla off her feet. Carla was so surprised she did not counterattack. A human hand at the end of a denn'bok strike, even a one-handed blow, should have broken. Carla's strength had gone with her flesh, muscle eaten away as her body consumed itself.

In the critical moment of distraction, Patty stomped down hard on Carla's good knee.

Carla screamed and shifted onto her other leg, feinted a punch with her broken arm and followed it up with a Pike blow to the side of Patty's head. There was a satisfying crunch, but Patty was as unstoppable as Carla, and bigger, and stronger.

Patty yanked the Pike out of Carla's hands, grabbed her by both wrists, and swept her remaining leg. Carla cried out as weight hung from her broken left arm. She struggled, but it was no use.

She had been overpowered by another human woman. It was mind-boggling. That was not supposed to happen. She was used to fighting people stronger than she was, in the weekly denn'bok tournaments, but those were Minbari warriors. Not a therapist with dainty earrings.

Someone's arm was around her throat. Probably the sensor tech. Everything was graying out around the edges as the second assailant squeezed her neck.

Carla tried to kick with her good leg, but it was ineffectual. She was weak.

Patty shouted, "Who did you signal? What kind of ship do you have? How fast? What kind of armaments?" The questions came too fast to answer even if Carla had been inclined to do so. Patty was wound up, bouncing up and down slightly. "Damn you, bounty hunter, who did you signal?"

Patty poked Carla in the eyes again. This time someone was holding Carla's head still, and Patty stuck her fingers right through. There was a sick popping sensation, horrible pain and a weird flash of unnameable colors. And then everything was dark.

Carla heard someone screaming, "You said we were safe! You said we were safe!" in Minbari. For a moment she thought it was her. But the accent was wrong, provincial rather than Coastline. It was Birenn.

Carla was aware that there was liquid on her face, and it was not tears. Then her mind separated from her surroundings, and she was floating at the top of the room, and she could see again. And then she was on the sea with her father, salt spray in her face, sunlight dancing on the water, her hands were sore from pulling on the ropes of the sail rigging of the rented yacht. "Small. Weak." He shook his head.

That had not happened. Sailing had been fun. But she had been small and weak; she had only been a child. And now she was small and weak again, and in someone else's power.

It was blacker than space, without any stars, and she was being dragged. A door opened; she supposed she was in another room now.

"Where's the beacon?" Patty snarled. The two women dumped Carla on the floor, and she came down on her smashed knee, and screamed. She lashed out with her right hand, but did not hit anything in her darkness.

Hands tore off her clothes. There was a small metallic sound as the pin she had hidden between layers of blue trim on her tunic came free and fell to the floor. If either of Carla's captors recognized the Anla'shok badge, they did not say or do anything that said so.

Carla stopped trying to fight. It was no use. Another slightly dissociated state descended on her like a curtain, the shameful, terrifying state of submission. She tried to tear out of it, but it enveloped her like mummy wrap.

"Where, dammit?" Patty's voice again. Patty's hands, probably, searched her roughly. Patty pulled the medical immobilizer off Carla's broken arm. The arm was nearly healed now, with the stimulated healing, but was still fragile.

A few seconds later there was a loud thunk as the immobilizer hit the ground, thrown down in anger when it proved not to be the signaling device.

Patty searched her again, brutally, squeezing hard and probing harder, forcing open all her openings, violating her in desperate haste.

"Where!" Something struck her across her shins. Her own denn'bok, maybe. She shrieked so loudly the scream cut off in the middle as her voice went out. Carla was not sure if her shin bones were broken.

The sensor tech said, "Patty, back off a moment, let me scan her."

"Stay still, bounty hunter," Patty spat. "Or I'll break your other knee."

Carla lay still on the floor, except that she was shaking. Sobbing, she realized. Her face was cold with the flow of air across wet skin. At least that part of her eyes still worked.

This isn't the end, Carla told herself. The Anla'shok will buy me a new set of eyes.

"There," said the sensor tech, accurately spanning the length of the device under Carla's skin with her hands. Patty's hands clamped onto Carla's arm, and then someone cut into her arm. There was a third person in the room. Perhaps more.

Carla made a whining noise as the beacon was cut out of her. It was the sound of someone who could no longer scream.

"I'll study the beacon," said the sensor tech. "Find out how far it reaches, what kind of technology it looks like, and who might have made it. Figure out what kind of ship it might go to."

"Fine," said Patty. The door swished open and footsteps receded, and the door closed again.

Maybe the tech was gone, maybe she wasn't. Carla knew about that kind of psychological game.

"Who are you here for, bounty hunter?" Patty asked, not as loudly this time, but with just as much venom. After a pause, Patty struck Carla's injured knee. "Answer me!"

"No one," Carla said.

Patty hit her shattered knee again. "Wrong answer, bounty hunter!"

"I'm not a bounty hunter!" Carla shrilled. "I didn't even know you harbored criminals. I really thought you were trying to help the victims."

"We do!" Patty yelled. "But we have to have some paying customers, or we couldn't do our good work. Women are depending on us."

"You don't give a damn about women or you wouldn't've done this to me." Carla's spirit roused from its shroud of submission.

Patty hit her in the knee again. "I'm doing this to protect the women we're trying to save. Sometimes you have to do things to get results. To get answers. And the answer I want is, who are you here for?"

"All of you!" Carla cried.

Patty made a frustrated hmpf sound. "What kind of ship is that beacon for? How many in your crew, bounty hunter?"

"I'm not a bounty hunter."

"Are you with the assassin's guild?"

"No!"

"You're working for somebody!" Patty accused.

Yes, I am, Carla thought. They wanted a report on New Life. And I will report you are evil.

But she did not say that. That was the truth, but it would be a defiant sort of thing to say. And Carla, like a zombie that could not quite dig its way free of the grave, was back under the shroud of submission.

Carla was lifted and placed on a slanted surface. It was angled like her sleeping platform aboard the Whitestar, but she was placed with her head lower than the rest of her. She was strapped down.

Someone opened her mouth and forced a cloth into it. She tried to bite the fingers, but even her jaw was weak now. She did not succeed in biting anything.

The cloth pressed on the back of Carla's throat and she nearly threw up. And then there was water pouring over her face. It ran into her nose. Her lungs began to fill with liquid, and there was a burning sensation even though the water was cold.

She could not help it: she opened her mouth to gasp. It was a reflex.

The water poured down the cloth funnel and down her throat. The cloth funnel expanded down her throat with the water, and the cloth made it impossible to swallow. The water poured into her lungs and the worst panic she had ever felt came over her. The panic of the drowning.

Carla coughed and tried to scream, and struggled wildly. She even struggled with her broken arm and leg, fear eclipsing pain.

Carla had been tortured many times. But this was the first time the torturer had seriously been after information. Inoja the pirate had done it for entertainment. And in the war, there had been nothing relevant a sergeant could have told them, especially after the first few weeks after her capture. The tortures she had endured on Tifar had been meant to break her for loribonding, and Comac had designed the torture program to leave its victims in shape to be shipped back to the front after being released, at least after a suitable stay in a hospital. He never crippled or blinded anyone, and he never let anyone die under torture.

Carla felt a peculiar nostalgia for Comac for just a second. Let me have the sucker wire, Carla thought. Let me scratch myself into oblivion with the baltor mar. Just make the waterboarding stop.

There was the kind of pain that made you pass out. The kind that made you wake up screaming. And the kind that made you scream for your mother even though you know she's not there.

But this was beyond pain. This was death.

I'm too young to go to the sea, Carla thought.

Finally the water stopped pouring. Carla coughed and heaved, expelling water from her lungs.

Patty said, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition."

Carla coughed and shook and wept.

"Feeling talkative now?" Patty asked.

"Yeshth." Carla nodded convulsively.

Fingers removed the rag from her mouth.

"Who are you here for, bounty hunter?"

"I'm a… Ranger." Carla's words were interrupted with coughing fits.

"Ranger? I thought you were a Marine. Isn't that the wrong branch of the service?"

"Anla'shok."

"Anna who?"

Carla coughed up more water, and drew a full breath at last.

"Who are you working for?"

"Entilza."

"Is that a corporation? Bail bondsman? Mafia? Pirate gang?"

Carla coughed drily now. "Entilza Delenn. She sent me to investigate New Life."

"Oh hell," said an unexpected male voice. "She's that kind of Ranger. Look at the damn brooch, Patty."

"What would they want with us? I backchecked the Minbari bitch. She's a nobody, a worker caste stripper just like she said."

Annoyed, the man said acidly, "Why don't you ask her."

"Well, go on," said Patty, poking one of Carla's empty eye sockets.

Carla gasped and made a short, high pitched sound. "Entilza sent me to report on New Life."

"That might be all she knows," the man said.

"She knows what kind of ship is following that beacon."

"Don't be dense, Patty. She's a Ranger. Everybody knows what kind of ship they fly. We're being followed by a damned Whitestar."

"Aw, hell. Get up to the bridge and, and do something."

End of chapter 4. Story continues in chapter 5.


	5. Chapter 5

Punch 5

"Target ship is changing course."

"Delay course adjustment," Firuun ordered. "If they've detected us, let's look like we're not interested in them. Adjust course at extreme sensor range."

The pilot and navigator worked together silently. Whitestar 97's navigator laid down a plot in blue over the starfield projected over the ceiling of the bridge. Everyone on the bridge could follow their progress at tracking the New Life vessel indicated by the blinking green triangle.

"Target vessel is exiting hyperspace."

"Follow them, but not too closely."

Whitestar 97 dropped out of the eternal hellfire of hyperspace into a hypnotic blue nebula full of young white stars.

"I've lost the track, uncle," the young warrior said, looking over his armored shoulder at Firuun.

"This stellar crèche is full of nebular mass a ship could hide in. Be alert for the signal, Captain'll be sending the signal within five minutes of leaving hyperspace."

The minutes ticked down. "No signal, clan leader. Something is wrong."

"Start search pattern."

A few minutes later, the warrior at the sensor station announced in relief, "Anomalous mass detected." He put the green triangle back on the hologram on the ceiling. "It's the right composition and temperature."

"Intercept course. Charge up main guns. Leave gunports closed until ready to fire."

"Changing course. Target vessel is moving. Jump point forming."

"After them."

The Whitestar slid into hyperspace an instant behind the New Life ship. If the New Life captain had been fooled by the Whitestar's previous slow responses, perhaps that explained why the New Life ship was speeding off now; perhaps its captain thought they could get away before their pursuers spotted them. Or perhaps they were just desperate, but not fool enough to turn and fight a Whitestar.

"Target vessel is heading off beacon. Ninety degrees. That's a spiderdrive course, uncle."

"Close up the range, target engines only and open fire."

The bridge crew responded efficiently despite their obvious nervousness. The Whitestar burned up to firing range in seconds and its gunner took out the enemy engines with the first shot. The civilian passenger liner never had a chance.

"Communications, open a channel to the New Life vessel." Firuun waited for the confirming nod. "New Life ship, this is Firuun of Clan Imbalo, first officer of Whitestar 97. You are ordered to surrender and prepare to be boarded."

Seconds ticked away. Firuun idly brought up the emissions signature of the New Life vessel's engines, recorded before they were blown apart. They were perfectly normal.

"Sensors. Scan for additional ships in the area, or possibly a hidden base. In the kinds of planes a Shadow vessel would travel."

Communications patched through a frightened female voice, speaking in English. "This Captain Chen of the Dewi Flower to Minbari ship. We're an unarmed transport of Earth registry. No state of hostilities exists between us."

"There will be if you've killed our Captain," Firuun thundered.

Another voice cut in, older and deeper. "The Ranger is alive. We're unarmed, Whitestar 97."

"I tell them that, Patty."

"For godssake, tell them we surrender. What the hell else can we do with no engines and no weapons?"

"Whitestar, we surrender. I remind you we are civilians and we demand to be treated in accordance with Interstellar law."

Whitestar 97 locked on to the passenger ship. A boarding party in full space armor came aboard. They relieved the New Life crew of what few weapons they had, mostly stunners and chemical sprays that would be ineffective against space armored troops.

Some of Dewi Flower's crew went into hysterics as they were herded together into their wardroom. The ones their fellow crewmembers could not calm down, Renbor gave mild sedatives to. Then he was called away when a search party found Carla.

The search party had covered Carla up with a blanket abstracted from an empty crew quarters. She had been unstrapped from the slanted platform, but not lowered to the floor; to Minbari eyes, the torture board was the most suitable furniture in the room. They had turned her end for end so that her head was uppermost.

"Captain," Renbor said softly. The death's-head face turned toward the sound of his voice. "I'm going to give you an anesthetic. Is there anything you need to tell us before you sleep?"

"They're evil," Carla whispered. "Find Patty. She did this."

Renbor nodded. Then he realized Carla could not see the gesture. "You'll be home onboard the ship when you wake up." He gave her an injection, then sent someone for a stretcher. He bandaged her face and her left arm, put the medical immobilizer from the floor back on her arm, and splinted both her lower legs and her knee.

The warriors searched for Patty, but she had disappeared. They did, however, find two men aboard. One of them said his name was Lawrence Ambrose, but his identity document turned out to be a very good forgery.

When Carla woke up, someone was holding her hand. Her right hand, her one unbroken limb.

"Carla?" It was Firuun's unmistakable deep voice. "We're docked with Babylon 5. We towed the New Life ship back here. The station doctor is coming aboard with an artificial eye. A used one; it's all they have in stock. But you can order a custom pair later."

Carla unclasped her hand from his and reached up, encountering the front of his armor. Her fingers traveled over the twists on the front, and spread out in a heart-touch. Firuun returned the gesture. Carla snagged the edge of his shoulder pauldron and pulled him down to her, and then explored his face and sharp head bone spikes with her hand. Finally she let go with a sigh.

"You'll have your sight back soon," Firuun assured her. "We found a surprise. There is no such person as Patty. Patty is a man. His real name is Patrick Luiere. And he's wanted by the Alliance for war crimes."

"Let me guess," Carla said. "He was on the wrong side in the Earth civil war. One of Clark's secret police."

"Close enough," said Firuun. "A civilian intelligence operative."

"It doesn't make sense," Carla said. "He fights like a woman. I mean, he fights like someone who's taken a women's self-defense course and has no other combat training. Going for the eyes, stomping on knees."

"Maybe he learned to fight after his transformation."

"I suppose. What about the other passengers? They were trying to leave Babylon 5 in secret."

"Which Luiere probably did have training in. Smuggling people out under false names, I mean. Part of the spy business. Handy. Anyway the humans chose to go to another program. Birenn wants to talk to you before leaving the ship."

"Oh. Sure, send her in."

Firuun brought someone back with him, the light, tentative footfalls matching Birenn's embarrassed walk. "Carla?" Birenn asked. "Is that your real name?"

"It is. Everything I talked about was the truth, except for the made up ex boyfriend."

"Me too," said Birenn. "I mean, my husband didn't really abuse me. I had to say that to get into New Life's program. I just wanted, well, a new life. I wanted out of the dancing business. In Valen's name, I swear I'll appreciate my husband and my life from now on. What Patty did to you—I think I really am going to need therapy now. I've never seen anything so horrible in my life."

"You saw her torture me?"

"No, I meant, um, your eyes."

"Oh, that. I admit it's scary in here, in this darkness I mean, but it isn't permanent. I'll have a new eye within the hour. Don't worry about me, Birenn. The Anla'shok takes care of its own."

"Oh. May Valen bless you." She left.

"Firuun? Are you still here?"

"Yes, Carla?"

"Tell me about Nelonn."

Firuun filled her in until the station doctor came in. Then Carla was put under so the doctor could install the nerve connections for her new eye. Soon she was peering at the world through a blue orb that had once belonged to G'Kar.

"I don't feel like writing anything," Carla joked. "No great wisdom is occurring to me. Darn. You washed it too well."

"Can you see this?" asked the doctor, holding up an eye chart.

Carla read it off. "Hey doc. Since you'll have to special order my new pair anyway, can I get a pretty color?"

"Sure. What would you like?"

"How about amethyst? It's my birthstone."

"Done. I'll let you know when your new eyes come in."

End of Chapter 5. Story continues in Chapter 6.


	6. Chapter 6

Punch 6

Zack Allen responded to his link. "Allen, go."

"We've located the fugitive Shona Marsu. We chased her into the lift, and she got off at the Zocalo."

"On my way." Zack was not far from there. He hurried to the marketplace and looked out over the swarm of human and alien beings among the stalls. He spotted Shona near the Fruits booth. He walked up to her and said, "Shona Marsu. Station security, miss, please come with us."

She looked Zack up and down and exclaimed, "Omigod, you're a cutie. Love me!" She flipped her black hair and batted her mascara-holders.

"You're under arrest on suspicion of possession of Dream. Come along peacefully now."

"Oh god, I wish I still had some. This will have to do." Shona pulled a hypodermic needle and tried to jab Zack with it.

He jumped back out of her reach and pulled his PPG. "Drop the needle."

"Waaaahhh! Beware of my Ninja skills!" She tried to get him with the needle again.

Zack shot her. Then he calmly linked in and said, "Medlab, get a doctor up to the Zocolo. I've had to shoot a suspect."

\

Carla looked at herself in the mirror. G'Kar's old eye was an ordinary human blue. Her other eye was covered by an eyepatch, and she thought she looked piratical. There was much less romance in that idea now that she had met some actual pirates.

Her hair was coming in evenly silver. To match the wheelchair.

It did not actually have wheels. It was a countergrav conveyance, powered by a Minbari battery pack that sat under the motor housing and glowed blue. She controlled it from a remote she could keep in her right hand or attach to the chair side. Her first try, she had zipped it right into a wall. In the tight confines of the ship, it felt as fast as a fighter but not nearly as maneuverable.

Countergravity was a Minbari technology based on the same scientific principles as artificial gravity. Earth had just been given access to the secret of artificial gravity, when Earth joined the Interstellar Alliance. So far Earth was only using it in prototype military ship designs. The level of mundanity a technology had to achieve before being used for the convenience of the disabled—for the most part, people without a great deal of disposable income-- pointed up how far Earth had to go before becoming anything close to an equal with the older civilizations.

On the other hand, Minbari society was set up specifically to protect the needs of the people from being shunted aside in favor of the needs of the military. The Grey Council, in both the old and new incarnations, had never been dominated by the military caste.

Nor did the military caste drop its severely wounded like broken toys. Minbar had no disabled veterans. They had only the warrior caste. A warrior was a warrior from birth to death, unless he himself chose otherwise, according to the calling of his heart. And that was another way in which Earth had some catching up to do.

Carla looked down at the unfamiliar controls in her hand and backed away from the mirror. That was more than enough reflection.

\

"Which cell did you put Shona in?" Zack asked.

"Fourteen," responded the security crewer. "She's conscious, if you want to question her, Chief. The doctor said the kind of painkillers she's on now won't affect her mental state."

"Good. I've got to find something to hold her on. She didn't have any drugs on her when I caught her. Monitor and record."

The security woman pressed a button. "Done."

Zack went into the stark cell and sat down on the metal chair, not too near to Shona. He asked, "Why did you do it? Were you planning to use Nelonn in terrorist activities, or a bank robbery, or what?"

"No! I just thought he was cute."

"Cute."

"Yeah! He's totally hot. So of course I had to put him under my spell."

"You did it to make him your love slave?"

"Of course. Naturally, I don't need to use the drug, I mean, I'm so gorgeous, look at my beautiful shiny black hair and green eyes, any man would do anything for me anyway. But it's so much quicker this way. It would have been great if he hadn't freaked out and said he was afraid of the dark or something and gone running off. Nobody else ever freaked like that."

"You've done this to other men?"

"Mostly men. A few women. Just for variety, you know. Everyone comes to love me eventually. I mean, how could they not love me, I'm so gorgeous, and they all want to comfort me for my tragic past, and take me in their arms, and love me forever, and they'll all do anything for me. But who wants to wait for eventually? That can take weeks. Months, even. When I want someone, I want him right now."

"If you were Minbari, you could be sent to prison for life for what you did to Nelonn. But you're human. You are human, right, despite the cosmetic alterations? I mean, hair dye and lens implants are one thing, but your face has been so extensively sculpted you could be Brakiri for all I know."

"I am not altered! This is the real me. The face I was born with wasn't the mirror of my true soul."

"So, tell me about your other victims. Where are they? What are their names?"

"They're not victims. They're my One True Loves."

"All of them are your One True Love?"

"Of course. Each one is my One True Love until I meet the next one."

"And where are they?"

"Wherever," she shrugged. "Why should I care where the peelings go after I made lemonade?"

"I want their names. We'll check to make sure you haven't kidnapped anyone, and aren't keeping anyone hostage somewhere."

"Sure, why not? If it'll make you happy, of course I'll tell you their names. Are you sure you want to know about my past relationships? You're my One True Love now."

Zack sighed. "I'm sure I want to know. Here's a handcomp. Key in the names for me."

"Anything for my sweet Zackie pie."

\

Carla eased her countergrav chair into Nelonn's cell. She had been practicing and was much better at maneuvering it now.

"Captain! In Valen's name, what happened to you?"

"Long story," Carla said. "I'll tell you all about it on the way back to the ship. It's time to go."

"I can't go out there. She's out there."

"Who?"

"Shona. They let her go."

"Why?"

"Human law," Nelonn said bitterly. "Possessing drugs is a crime. Having drugs in your body is crime. Dealing drugs is a crime. Giving them away apparently isn't."

"What about-- of course. You got away, so. Right."

"She's out there. Waiting for me. She could be anywhere. Around any corner. How do you stand it? How can you live like this?"

Nelonn started crying, and turned away with his hands over his face.

"Nelonn, you don't have to be embarrassed about crying. Not about this, and not in front of me. I know. I know how it feels."

Nelonn wiped his face on his sleeve. "So how do you live with it?"

"You don't have to. She isn't protected behind a wall of undefeatable enemies. Nelonn, you're not a Ranger, so you don't have to participate in the terror ritual if you don't want to. But I think you'll feel a lot better if you hunt down Shona and kill her."

"Isn't that murder?"

"Not if I say it isn't. I can claim jurisdiction over the case."

"Is that what you did to get me out of here?"

"No. Security is dismissing the drug charges against you because they believe you when you say you were given the drug without your knowledge or consent. I helped convince them of that, but it's well known that Minbari don't lie. And the charge of resisting arrest is being dropped because you were experiencing loritril dream state illusions at the time."

"Why don't they hold her on resisting? I hear she tried to assault Mr. Allen with a hypodermic needle."

"They did. The Ombuds gave her a fine. She paid it. So. Want to kill her?"

"I can't go near her. What if she says something? She could phrase me and make me kill myself. Or do anything. Even if I kill her, what if she manages to say something before she dies, like, oh, go join the Drakh or something."

"Of course. OK, how about if I hunt her down and cut out her tongue and then you can kill her?"

"Captain!" Nelonn protested, edging slightly away from her. "Kill her after you take her captive? And, and, her tongue, oh that is just disgusting! I can't believe you could even think of that!"

"Right," Carla sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "You're right."

Carla started to cry too. She felt helpless to help him. Nelonn should not have to face this kind of thing at his age. His whole life was ahead of him.

She set the controls to her chair down in her lap and wiped her face. "There's got to be something we can do. I'm not going to let this go on. Sniping. Snipe her from hiding."

"I'd still be afraid she might say something."

"Then I'll take care of it."

"Captain, not even you could hunt someone down and kill them from a wheelchair."

"Watch me." Carla sniffed and smiled, and her tears went away. "And that disbelief is a good thing. I won't be a suspect."

"Captain Punch?"

"Yes?"

"Am I a coward?"

"No. No, you're not. You have a perfectly healthy and rational fear. I'll have Firuun figure out how to get you back to the ship without risking hearing a command from her."

Carla went back to the Whitestar. An hour later, Nelonn was brought back onboard, being steered through the corridors of Babylon 5 with a portable music system playing in his ears and a blindfold on to keep him from seeing anyone's lips moving. A full squad of warriors escorted him, armed with denn'boks. There were no incidents.

Nelonn was so relieved to be back on the ship that when the blindfold and earbuds were pulled off of him, he embraced a corner of the ship's walls like hugging a tree. The living ship responded to him with a brief pulse of light.

\

A Minbari war cruiser brought Satai Morann to Babylon 5 a day after Delenn arrived in her Whitestar. Morann, Delenn, and Carla met on the war cruiser.

It was a dark room with nine spotlights. "It's strange to be back here," Delenn said.

"Is this…?"

"Is this the Council chamber?" Delenn finished for Carla. "It is. But you will not be meeting the rest of the Nine. Their minds are made up, and they will call no witnesses in this matter."

Morann said, "But I have the right to use the chamber to hear reports if I wish. So report, Anla'shok Carla Punch."

Carla related what she had learned, both in her adventure and after speaking with various members of the Dewi Flower's crew after its capture. Most of the crew had done nothing illegal, and had been released.

Delenn added, "Another Whitestar is looking for a possible hidden base or pocket hyperspace domain in the area where the Dewi Flower went off the beacon."

Morann mused, "It sounds like such a beautiful idea, doesn't it? A new life. People like Patrick Luiere using the same skills they used in the commission of their crimes to help society's most desperate. To turn their evil into good, by creating a new life for themselves, a life of service."

"To find redemption for one's sins in good works," Carla echoed, putting the concept in a familiar Christian package.

The two Minbari, of course, did not know enough about human religions to recognize that. Morann said, "How perfect a concept. It is possible, is it not?"

Delenn touched Morann's arm briefly, in a reassuring way. "Many things are possible. But as for Luiere and New Life, they did not truly reform themselves. As Carla said, they are evil, and what they did to her proves it. They did not leave their old ways behind. One does not find redemption for committing acts of torture by committing another act of torture, no matter the rightness of the cause."

"The ends don't justify the means," Carla said, again coming up with an old human cliché that was new to her listeners.

"Very wise," said Delenn.

Morann said, "I will vote against New Life. I wanted to believe in them. Before I found out who was behind it, I was suspicious; I knew something was slightly off. Now I know New Life was founded by Clark-era human war criminals looking for a way to become good people. I profoundly wish they had succeeded. I wish their example was a beacon of hope, for all those who regret their past actions and wish to redeem themselves. But they failed."

"Credit must be given for the attempt, nonetheless," said Delenn.

"You are generous and forgiving, Delenn," said Morann. "So I hope to be judged, in the end."

"Valen is a forgiving man, Morann. I knew him."

Carla made a noise by revving the motor of her countergrav chair, floating upward a little.

"Ah," Morann said. "No, I have not forgotten you are there. But if there is any place in all the wide empty places of this galaxy where it is safe to speak of secrets, surely it is the meeting room of the Grey Council."

"Carla does not know," Delenn said.

"What I have done? Or what we have done?"

Delenn glanced at Carla. Then she fixed her gaze on Morann and said in her hard voice, "The report is given, your decision made; there is no purpose in continuing the meeting."

"Of course," said Satai Morann. "Captain Punch, it was an honor to meet you."

"The honor is mine, Satai Morann." Carla could not make a proper Minbari bow without the use of both hands to make the triangle gesture, but she made a little head-bobbing gesture to the Satai, and then to Entilza. Then she scooted backwards into the darkness.

It would have made a fine dramatic exit, except she could not find the door, and had to wait until Delenn opened it and the light from the corridor outside spilled in, illuminating the way.

On the way to the shuttle dock, Delenn asked Carla, "How long will it be until you can walk again?"

"About a month," said Carla. "Renbor hammered in a couple of steel rods to reinforce the bones while they're healing, and is giving me regular quick-heal injections. Fantastic technology, Earth has nothing like it. The left arm is almost ready to use again. There's no reason I can't recuperate at home, on the ship I mean. Is there? I mean, it is still my ship, isn't it?"

Delenn smiled reassuringly. "Of course it is. Human custom would be to assign you to some ground or base assignment until your recovery. But I see no need to reshuffle assignments, since you do not require any further medical attention beyond what your own ship's doctor can provide, at least until your new eyes arrive here on Babylon 5."

"Thank you, Entilza."

End of Chapter 6. Story continues in Chapter 7.


	7. Chapter 7

Punch 7

Nelonn and Khunnier stood in the spectaters' ring, watching the current denn'bok champion fight Firuun. He fought the winner of the tournament, now that Carla was incapacitated.

Nelonn had not gotten anywhere near the last round this time. He was distracted by his worries.

Minbari Fighting Pikes crashed against each other: strikes, blocks, counterattacks. The two warriors almost seemed to be performing a ballet, their movements were such a perfection of form.

Firuun used his superior strength to wear down his opponent with strike after strike, until finally his opponent's arm gave out and his block failed. Firuun landed a strike to the ribs that would have crushed human bone, but only bruised his Minbari opponent. Firuun leaned into the strike, bringing the other end of his denn'bok down across his opponent's shoulder and chest, and levered him to the ground.

Before the fallen warrior could rise or bring his Pike up to guard or strike, Firuun moved his denn'bok from shoulder to neck, pausing at the skin, a match-winning move that simulated a lethal blow. Firuun looked like a god-king out of ancient myth, crowned with sharp head bone spikes.

The match was over. The losing warrior rose, and the two fighters bowed to each other. The crowd started to talk and move around.

Nelonn turned to Khunnier and asked nervously, "Do you think Captain's gone to kill Shona?"

"You must think so, if you asked. Did she say she was going to?"

"Not now. Earlier, in the station jail. She wants me to be safe. Captain's like a mother koshat sometimes."

"Except with smaller teeth," Khunnier said, smiling faintly.

"Khunnier. You're a good friend of the Captain's."

Khunnier's eyes widened for a moment, recalling the last conversation he had that had started that way. "Go on."

"She scares me. I know she's trying to look out for me, but she suggested, as an alternative to killing Shona, cutting out her tongue. So Shona couldn't say anything to me. Shona terrifies me more than anything I've ever heard of, but still. Captain said she could hunt down Shona and cut out her tongue, and then give her to me to kill." Nelonn shook his head vigorously. "I refused, of course."

"That's a horrifying idea. I trust Carla rejected it too, in the end?"

"Yes."

Khunnier nodded. "Just brainstorming, probably."

"But—to even think of it. Khunnier, can you picture it? Shona, yes she's evil and terrifying but if the Captain caught her and cut out her tongue and brought her to me, killing her wouldn't be combat. At that point Shona would be a prisoner. It would be a…"

"Carla wouldn't really do that," Khunnier said. "Remember, we had a prisoner who had loribonded someone. And the Captain wouldn't even scare him, let alone lay a hand on him."

Nelonn nodded. "I heard about that when I came onboard. You wanted the Captain to sing the Song of the Dalshon to Lennier, and she wouldn't do it."

"That's right. What she will do, and what she can think of, are different things. Carla has been so brutalized, violent thoughts are inevitable. She's lucky to be sane, with all that's happened. Her own people don't consider her to be sane, actually, did you know that?"

"No."

"That's a story for another time," Khunnier said, deciding that the topic of prejudice against those who have been loribonded was not something Nelonn needed to hear about right then. "You're going to be alright, Nelonn. You're safe aboard the Whitestar."

"I know. Thanks."

\

The first thing she needed was money. Carla found a bank machine and withdrew the entire amount of her accumulated military pension in Earth credit chits, which made a surprisingly substantial pile. She had never managed to save any money before; everything that did not go to rent, food, and other basic necessities had gone to beer. But now the Anla'shok was paying for all her needs. Except this one.

The Rangers would gladly have paid for any weapons she wanted, too, except that she could not bring energy weapons from the ship's armory across Babylon 5's customs barriers. She could only bring her denn'bok with her legally, and she was in no shape to kill someone with it at the moment.

Carla briefly pictured herself swooping down on someone in her countergrav chair, like a Valkyrie on a flying horse. She snorted. Right. Very impressive.

She had three broken limbs and only 1 working artificial eye. But she still had a steady right hand, and that was enough to snipe Shona with a PPG.

The trick was, she needed to buy one on the black market. Carla put her money away in a pouch which she tucked under the front of the dark sweater Milenn had procured for her. She floated into the lift, and headed for Downbelow. "Down, down, to goblin-town," Carla murmured.

She flipped her cloak over the chair, making it less recognizable. The chair shape disappeared, leaving only the truncated height of someone sitting down, and a bit of blue glow coming from underneath the cloak. She pulled up the hood, and hoped she might pass for some exotic flying alien.

It took her the better part of a day to find the right connections. Her first contacts with the underworld had offered only entertainment: tickets to a cage fight (maybe later), drugs (yuck), data crystals full of illegal pornography and snuff films (only fun in person, thanks anyway—which reaction had garnered her a handbill advertising Lucky's Stud Ranch, the First and Only Space Brothel for Women Customers).

Now Carla was sitting at a table for two in a grimy bar, where her hood and cloak did not look at all out of place. There was a mug of beer in front of her, more than half full.

Next to her, a large table of loud men was conducting the kind of business that most people did not believe Rangers would ignore. For some reason, non-Minbari seemed to think they were some kind of law enforcement group. Well, they did hunt down pirate ships. Maybe that accounted for it.

She pretended to be busy examining the handbill. There were pictures of featured Studs: two humans, one dressed up as a cowboy who really did not look like he was aimed at the female market, another in something that might once have been a tuxedo before being trimmed to show off the impressive pecs and sixpack. Various aliens in similar variations of their national dress. No Minbari.

Carla idly wondered what Firuun would look like if his black war armor received the tuxedo treatment. Her breathing deepened.

Her contact sat down in the seat opposite her. Carla yanked her gaze up and blinked a few times, getting her mind back to business. She folded the handbill and put it in her waistband.

The seller was a Narn. He was scarred and hunched, and his voice sounded pickled. "Big Lou say Eyepatch look for special item. Funny, look, ha ha."

"What do you have?" Carla asked.

"Many things. What you want?"

"It has to be concealable. One-handed. And not very loud."

"Many things like that. Ray, slug, burst, flechette, or area effect?"

"Ray."

"Centauri manufacture OK?"

"Yes."

"You come see. Then we talk price."

She followed him to a trash-filled corridor, and then into a small room piled with inventory.

The piece was ergonomically designed for a woman's small hand, with a nubby friction grip and a smooth curving hand guard with a dully gleaming antique gold finish. The shape reminded her of a swan, and the three control buttons on the top looked like emerald-cut diamonds. The Centauri lady's ray gun read as jewelry at first glance. Carla imagined Inoja would have squealed in delight to own such a pretty, deadly little purse-pistol.

Carla tested it on an empty box. Although powerful, the beam was a simple laser, and thus as quiet as anyone could wish. It shot straight and true and the box caught on fire. The Narn stamped out the flames under his boots.

"How much?"

The Narn named a price well within her spending limit.

"I'll take it."

Then Carla began her hunt.

When Carla had been hanging around the security office waiting for Nelonn's escort to arrive, she had overheard Security Chief Zack Allen tell one of his security crewers that if Shona did not leave Zack alone he would haul her in for stalking. Therefore, Shona was shadowing Zack's footsteps. Therefore, to find Shona, one need only follow Zack.

Carla was not about to do that herself, floating in her chair, even if it was disguised with a cloak, and with an eyepatch peeking out from beneath her hood. But where she would be conspicuous, a child, casually playing, would pass unnoticed. And there were plenty of urchins in Downbelow who would be only too happy to do a relatively safe and non disgusting job for a few credits.

Using Local Sources, Week 3, Carla thought. Anla'shok training encompassed a lot more skills than fighting and piloting. Until the Whitestar era, the Rangers had been purely an intelligence service for a thousand years.

"I walk—float—in the dark places, where no one else will go," Carla whispered, as her little spies scampered away on her business. "No one except the poor and the wretched, the underclass and the underworld, beggars, thieves, whores, the vampires of the underground economy and all those they suck dry."

She shook her head. That was quite a philosophical turn, for someone planning a murder. And Nelonn was right: it was murder.

But it had to be done. Where law fails, there are the Rangers. Where shadows loom, there are the Rangers. Where the woods have eyes, and black sticks point to a paling moon, and wolves howl around the borders of the walled city, there are the Rangers. Just outside, in the darkness. To hunt down those things that make peaceful citizens shiver in their beds at night.

"Monsters, yes," Carla whispered. "Even monsters with perfect faces, a model of the plastic surgeon's art."

It took several days to establish Shona's pattern. That was fine; Carla had plenty of time. Her ship would be docked here until her testimony was no longer needed against Patrick Luiere and the rest of the New Life hierarchy. And that would probably take a long time, because the New Life case was not a matter for Babylon 5's Ombuds; this was going to be the closest thing the Alliance had yet come to a show trial.

It had everything the media loved: an unlikely cast of characters—a cabal a Clarkist war criminals running a sweetness-and-light charity--, bizarre violence, even a sex-scandal twist in the person of "Patty" Luiere. And a truly weird government conspiracy involving the Grey Council, which even Morann and Delenn had not completely figured out yet. And the worker caste sponsor of the asteroid mine scheme was definitely not giving interviews.

The circus was still gathering, the trial not even begun. Carla would be needed on Babylon 5 for a long time. Unless the Alliance decided to move the proceedings elsewhere, of course. But so far, all the action was here. So she had a very good excuse to stick around.

Carla did not meet with her spies in person. Instead she taught the children elementary tradecraft. They hid reports for her taped under the works of the hand sanitizing machine in the restroom of a cheap snack shop. The kind of place where the employees would never clean an area an adult could not see from eye level. She collected the reports and replaced them with money. Simple and efficient.

The children would be a liability later, if they knew they were spying on Shona. But they did not. They were told to spy on Zack Allen, and report anyone they saw around him. Anyone who was around Zack regularly was followed, including Shona and a long list of decoys.

Shona showed up, watching Zack, regularly when she got off work. Every day, Shona left work in a shop in the Zocalo, haunted Zack's general vicinity until Zack went home, whether right after work or after hanging out with friends for a while. Shona always peeled off when Zack reached the residential corridor, since she had no good place to hide there, and nothing innocent to pretend to be doing.

And she always took the same route when she left Zack's hallway: to a bar, where she never stayed long enough to do much boozing. That was the opening, the weakness Carla had been looking for.

She went to this bar and waited for Shona. Carla sat at a corner table, where she could watch everyone. She ordered a beer, but barely touched it. She could not really handle the beer anymore, and she really did not need to try to pull this off while suffering an attack of nausea.

What was Carla going to do afterwards? She had been careful not to alert Shona, or Zack, to what she was planning. But after the target was eliminated, it was very likely she would be discovered.

She could not face prison. After she killed Shona…

Carla took out the handbill for Lucky's. She did not know why she had been carrying it around all this time, but now it came in handy. It was printed on both sides, but there was room to write in the margins.

How very marginal, Carla thought. To write a suicide note on the margins of a brothel flyer.

What to say? I'm not going to prison again? I'm not crazy? I did it to protect a child? None of you understand what Nelonn's life will be like if Shona is allowed to live.

None of that really sounded quite right. It was all true—except, perhaps, for the part about not being crazy—but it was all just so obvious, hardly needing to be said at all.

I live for the One, I die for the One. Except if she did this, she would be dying for herself. Kill to protect Nelonn, yes. That was well within a Ranger's mandate. But kill herself to avoid discovery? Well, yes, so was that, but only on a secret mission. Which this was not.

Carla's death would not serve Entilza. She crumpled up the handbill.

Shona came in, did not order anything, and headed straight for the bathroom. Carla followed. As she had suspected, Shona was meeting with her dealer. The Centauri female hid her hands in her pockets far too quickly when the stranger came in. Probably concealing ampoules of Dream, or packets or whatever other drug Shona might want to buy.

Carla pretended to have no interest in the pair. She looked right past them, making for a stall. This was her moment; she had not pictured two kills, but it would have to do. She could not appear twice, or follow Shona; Shona might become suspicious.

Carla had killed a lot of people over the years. Some killings were more legal than others. Not everyone had fought back, or even been aware of her before she attacked. She told herself this was no different.

Carla prayed silently. Not to the God who had never listened to her, and who had not brought her any relief when she prayed to him on Tifar. That God was no more than a name to swear by when she stubbed her toe. She prayed to Valen, to help her for the sake of Nelonn.

As she drew close to Shona and the drug dealer, Carla aimed her Centauri laser pistol under her cloak, and fired right through the material. Carla's hand was steady. Shona went down. The dealer reacted quickly, drawing a weapon, but Carla got her too. The laser was silent and invisible.

There were two smoking holes in Carla's cloak. And two bodies thumping to the floor.

Centauri dealer. Centauri weapon. Seized by a sudden inspiration, Carla carefully wrapped her hand in the edge of her cloak and opened the Centauri body's bolero. There was a Centauri laser pistol inside. Not as fancy as Carla's, but of similar characteristics.

"Thank you, Valen," Carla said out loud. "You've always answered me."

Carla did a quick calculation of angles, and arranged the bodies, careful not to touch them with her bare hands. She did not have to worry about footprints, floating in her chair.

Carla wiped down her jeweled pistol and carefully put it in Shona's hand. Then she put the Centauri woman's own pistol in the Centauri's hand.

Then, with another prayer to the patron of the Rangers, Carla folded her cloak to conceal the two holes, and left the room.

She knew that if any of the people in the bar gave full and accurate statements to security, she was certain to come under suspicion. How many people were floating around the station right now, after all? But this bar was in Downbelow, and Downbelow was notorious for having crowds full of no witnesses to things that happened right out in public.

And Shona had been no one the security chief would mourn, that was for damn sure. How much investigating would he do when presented with an obvious scenario like a dispute between a drug dealer and customer? The officers on the scene might take it at face value and have the bodies carted off without a second glance.

With luck—with the blessing of Valen—she might just get away with it.

But just in case she didn't, Carla was going to live the next few hours, and days, and weeks, as if they were her last. From here on out, every breath was a precious gift.

She was not going to worry about the consequences of any actions less serious than this one. She was not going to keep denying herself what she wanted because she was afraid things would change. And what she wanted was Firuun.

Just once more in her life, before they came to take her away, she wanted to feel that distinctive feeling that had filled her nightmares for a decade: that feeling that had meant the pain was over for the day, and the safety of darkness was about to come, until the next day started it all over again. That feeling, terrifying in the first few weeks, which later came to mean safety and rest and even a warped pleasure toward the end of her stay. That feeling: hard, cold, and slick as glass. Alien. Minbari. Inside her.

After all this time, it still meant the end of torment and the safety of the night. Like Pavlov's dogs still salivating to the sound of a bell long after the experiment was ended and the dogs set free to roam the countryside, hanging out by the church with their tongues hanging out, waiting for the bell to toll.

She wanted—she needed—this day to be over.

End of Chapter 7. Story continues in Chapter 8.


	8. Chapter 8

Punch 8

Carla passed Nelonn in the hallway as she was leaving the shuttle dock. He was probably on the way to the fighter bay to do some maintenance work. She wanted to tell him he was safe now. That he could leave the ship, go try to have some innocent boyish fun on the station. But she had to wait until someone told her Shona was dead. To tell him now would be to invite curiosity about how she knew.

Carla continued on her way, floating down the corridor of the Whitestar toward engineering. She found Firuun there.

He was fiddling idly with a control panel, tuning up a system that did not really need any work. The Whitestar was in orbit of Epsilon IV, within sight of Babylon 5. The ship was basically self-maintaining, as a living entity, and when it was not in combat it did not require much attention.

There were two other crew members in Engineering, engaged in a simulation with a 3D projection at the other end of the room.

Carla floated up to Firuun. He turned to her and smiled. She elevated her chair until she came level with him, her one artificial eye looking directly into his two natural ones. She reached out and touched his face. Her fingertips traced the contours of his brow, cheek, and jaw.

"I thought you could see now."

"I can."

Her hand slid down. Heart-touch. Then it slid down again.

"Not here," Firuun whispered, catching her hand before it went too far down. He held her hand as he asked, "Would you like to inspect the ship's appendix?"

"The what?"

"That's what I call it. A part of the ship that I can't figure out what it's for. A maintenance crawlway that goes up to a sort of pod that doesn't access anything. I started going up there to study it, but I found I liked the place. I've made a sort of engineer's nest in there, for those times when I need some quiet."

"You mean, there's actually somewhere private on this ship?" A slow smile grew on her face.

"There is. If you want to go there. You won't be able to get the chair in there. I'll have to carry you."

Carla nodded, her breath quickening. "What if we… change our relationship… and then I change my mind? We'll still be here on this ship."

"Then we'll be back to where we've been all along," Firuun whispered. "We've both felt the attraction from long before you became a Ranger."

"Do Minbari kiss?" Carla asked.

"Not generally."

"What do you do instead?"

"Have rituals."

Carla chuckled. "Why doesn't that surprise me."

"But rituals are for courtship. And that's for marriage. And that's a clan matter. You told me once you would never admit to your family that you joined the Anla'shok. I assume that means this ship would be a closed subject too, and marrying a Minbari would be completely out of the question."

Carla made a face. "That's true. My family would never accept it." Not that she would let that stop her, but she had not been thinking about marriage. That idea would imply a future.

"Then to hell with the rituals. We're not courting. We're just two spacers having fun together."

Firuun scooped her out of her chair, holding her carefully, mindful of her mending legs. Carla snuggled in to his chest with a smile and a sigh.

Firuun whispered, "Once we get up into the ship's appendix, you won't be able to get out by yourself. If you're going to change your mind, better do it now, before you get trapped up there with a giant Minbari warrior."

"Firuun. Let's go already, I'm not getting any younger."

Firuun carried her off to his lair. That's how Carla thought of it, when she finally saw it. The entrance was high in a wall off main engineering, reached by a ladder and a catwalk. Firuun boosted her into the crawlway, climbed over her, and pulled her by her uniform vest into a cave-shaped space.

"Sorry about the mess," he rumbled. There really was no mess; as a ship's engineer, Firuun was not in the habit of leaving his tools unstowed, in case of sudden maneuvers. But there was a half-eaten candy bar and a magazine on the floor of the cavity, which Firuun shoved into the far wall. There were no corners in there.

The ship's walls gave off a cool blue-green light which reminded Carla of a grotto. She tried very hard to convince herself that was romantic rather than creepy. The light was actually very pretty, but the chamber was barely tall enough for her to sit up in, and Firuun lay on his side with his elbow out and his head propped up on his hand.

"Do you believe in soulmates, Carla?" Firuun asked.

"Um. I haven't really thought of that since I was young. Maybe."

"You and I are mirrors of each other. Common interests; we both like a good fight, in a way that even most members of the warrior caste don't understand. Common opinions; you and I connected, in the bar in Babylon 5, over my story about Tiluun. You understood my admiration for a certain style of military leadership. Common experiences, in the war, two halves of the same coin."

"You're heads, I'm tails," Carla smirked. She reached for him with her one good limb, and trailed her hand down below his belt. Of course, he was already hard; Minbari were always hard.

Firuun undressed her, his movements slow and patient. When she was naked, he lowered her to the warm living deck and gently lifted and arranged her legs.

He's positioning me, Carla thought, and her breath caught. She had both known and not known to expect that; Minbari hands had positioned her for sex hundreds of times before, but had not known if an actual lover would do that too.

Firuun knelt between her legs, hunched over her with his head bone spikes scraping the ceiling.

She started to unfasten his shirt, but he took her hand and placed it on the deck beside her head. Carla's eyes widened and her breath came faster now.

"I think I'll just leave that on," "Firuun said, his voice gone quiet and soft, but still resonantly deep. "My war armor excites you. Doesn't it?"

"Yes," Carla whispered.

He caressed her, feather-light touches. It was too light. She couldn't stand itching.

"Ah, Firuun, don't tickle. Please."

"Mmm." Firuun's hands on her firmed, massaging. Then he rolled her nipples, and finally explored her open, naked vulnerability.

Carla reached for the fastening of his clothes again, and he took her by the wrist and planted her arm firmly on the deck.

For a moment Carla froze. She tried to speak and could not. It was the old obedience response, and she hated herself for it. This was Firuun. Not a guard, not a torturer, not a pirate, not a bored anonymous warrior off some ship or other having an hour's fun at a military base. Not an enemy.

She coughed, and found her voice again. "You really don't want me to see you naked, do you?"

"Not today," Firuun said. "You'll have to come back in the ship's appendix again another day for that. You humans have an expression, always leave them wanting more."

"That's for stage magicians."

Firuun grinned. "Yes, and for my next trick, I will produce a rabbit out of my hat."

He unzipped and reached in to pull out his "rabbit", and Carla giggled. Then Firuun performed his trick, and she put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her humor. A human male would not have wanted laughter at that moment.

But Firuun was not human, and his eyes twinkled, sharing Carla's laugh. Then she caught sight of the trick and gasped. "Oh. My. You are, um, proportionately large all over."

She half expected him to put her hand back on the deck, but he did not. When she reached for him, he moved down towards her, both his hands on the deck beside her as if he were about to do some push-ups. He did not smother her with his heavy Minbari body, for which she was both relieved and slightly disappointed.

Firuun eased into her. It was everything she had anticipated. Everything she remembered. Like crystal, like ice, like a thousand nights of shameful desire.

He was so big that it hurt a little, but in a good way. He felt Minbari, of course, but he felt different from every other Minbari, because he was so much longer. He was unique.

She watched his blissful expression, and his armored body moving over hers. And she realized this was the first time anyone had really, truly made love to her. The first time someone really loved her.

And she wondered if she loved him back, or if she just wanted to spread for a Minbari. Any Minbari. Just her compulsions and craziness leaking out.

She remembered the first time one of the guards on Tifar had said, 'You like to open your legs for Minbari warriors, don't you, little human whore?' And in Valen's name, who wouldn't rather do that than suffer the baltor mar? They had kept saying it until she started responding to it as a nickname, and Control had not bothered being creative. 'Little human whore' was her phrase.

Afterwards, Firuun moved to her side. Both of them caught their breath. "Are you OK, Carla?"

"I'm—confused," she admitted.

"Maybe we should have done the rituals after all."

"No, it's not… it's just…"

"I'm an idiot," Firuun said. "This is your first time since you were—I should not have moved this fast."

Carla shook her head. "I've been waiting for this just as long as you have."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Oh, Firuun. What the hell am I doing here? Not in here, with you, I know what I'm doing in here. Screwing. I mean, what am I doing on this ship? What am I doing in this uniform? So to speak." She glanced at her Anla'shok uniform, several feet away.

"Carla, some really bad experiences have happened since you became Anla'shok. But I knew you before. You weren't happy."

"No, I wasn't," she agreed.

Firuun vaulted back over her, his face lit with inspiration. "I know!" his deep voice echoed in the small chamber.

Carla startled.

Then he whispered, "Here, Carla." He settled himself with his face at the cleft of her legs. "You have no idea how erotic I've always found it when you pull me down to you by my head bone."

"Really?" Carla said, taking a head spike firmly in her right hand.

"Control me, Carla," he whispered.

She smiled and pulled him down to her. Firuun opened his mouth and licked.

"Yes, yes. You were right. No Minbari has ever done that before."

He looked up at her, catching the implication. She pushed his face back down.

For that moment, for that hour, everything was perfect.

End of Chapter 8. Story continues in Chapter 9.


	9. Chapter 9

Punch 9

There was a muffled banging sound and an engineering crewer called, "Captain? Mr. Allen is here to see you."

"Oh, hell, not now," Carla moaned. "Just a minute!" she yelled down the crawlway.

"So much for being discrete," Firuun rumbled.

"Hand me my clothes, would you? Oh! If I could walk I'd be walking funny. OW! Help me with my pants, I can't bend my knee like that."

Firuun helped her dress. Then he exited the ship's appendix and pulled her out of the crawlway by her uniform vest. He carried her in his arms across the catwalk and, awkwardly, down the ladder, and gently settled her in her wheelchair.

The engineering crewer followed them down the ladder, and then went about his duties.

Zack Allen was waiting at the bottom, by Carla's chair. He did not say a word as Firuun arranged Carla's legs for her in the footrests of her chair.

Finally Firuun stood up, and the two of them looked expectantly at Zack.

"Shona Marsu is dead."

"Thank Valen!" Carla exclaimed. "How?"

"You really can't walk, can you?"

"No," Carla replied. "I'm not in any shape to fight with a denn'bok right now. Renbor, my ship's doctor, tells me I shouldn't participate in the tournaments for three months after I stalk walking again. Was she killed with a Pike? Are my crew suspects?"

"Everyone's a suspect for now," Zack said. "But there's a short list and an everyone list. You're on the short list for motive. So. Where were you between 2 and 3 this afternoon?"

"Uh…" Carla gestured over her shoulder with her thumb toward the ship's appendix.

"She was with me all day," Firuun said.

"Mm," Zack said. "Well, you didn't really make much of a suspect, physically, but I had to ask. You see, she was killed in a womens' bathroom. Even in Downbelow, someone would have noticed if, say, Nelonn went in there."

"Nelonn hasn't left the ship since you released Shona from jail," Carla said. "He was deathly afraid of her, with good reason. This news is going to make his year. Have you talked to him yet?"

"He's next," said Zack.

"Then we'll come with you. I want to see his face when he finds out she's dead."

"So do I," said Zack. His tone and expression implied he wanted to see if Nelonn was going to be surprised.

"I'll come too," said Firuun. "I'm his senior kinsman."

Zack did not ask what that meant. He dealt with all kinds of aliens every day, and was used to hearing unfamiliar cultural referents. But as the three of them turned to leave main engineering, Zack whispered to Firuun, "You're fly is open."

Which made Carla blush scarlet to the ears.

Firuun did not redden at all, despite the paleness common to Minbari. He just sealed up without a glance.

The trio found Nelonn in the fighter bay, as Carla had postulated. Her first sweep around with her artificial eye had not turned up any boot-shapes hanging out of maintenance hatches, but Firuun had spotted the boy inside one of the fighters.

Nelonn jumped out of the cockpit when they approached. "Captain! Clan chief. I was just, um, adjusting a… adjustment."

Carla's mouth quirked. "It's OK, Nelonn. We have some good news for you."

"Shona is dead," said Zack.

Nelonn's mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked at Carla, who nodded reassuringly. Nelonn whispered, "Then I'm free?"

"You're free," Carla agreed, smiling contentedly.

"When? How? Who did it?" Nelonn asked Zack.

"Between 2 and 3," Zack said. "And where were you during that time?"

Nelonn looked at Carla for a translation. His English was getting better but was still far from perfect, and human timekeeping conventions were a little beyond him. Carla translated the time into shipboard time parts for him, in the Minbari warrior caste language.

Nelonn looked back at Zack and continued in English, "In the practice hall. Having lunch with my cousins."

"I trust you can produce these witnesses?" Zack asked.

"I am Minbari," Nelonn replied, a slight adolescent whine in his voice. "Minbari do not lie."

"You can talk to them," Carla assured Zack. "Human law was made for humans, Nelonn."

"Of course," Nelonn said, now sounding disgusted rather than insulted.

"Come on, Mr. Allen," said Carla. "Let's get this out of the way so you can file the paperwork in your oubliette, huh? You've got to be relieved, too, the way Shona was after you."

"You have no idea," Zack said dryly.

Zack interviewed all possible suspects, and finally concluded that everyone with motive had an airtight alibi. So he put down that Shona and her dealer had killed each other, and closed the case, much to the relief of everyone, including himself.

Life on the station went on as usual. That is to say, full of chaos, mishaps, and general snafu.

Whitestar 97 made a few desultory passes around the vicinity of Babylon 5, patrolling peaceful routes. Carla largely left the bridge to Firuun, or to the pilot, spending most of her time in the viewing room, alone, looking at the stars. Or at the darkness between them.

One day Firuun came to Carla in the darkness of the viewing room. The only light came from the holographic stars. "Carla? Whatever it is, I'm sorry."

"Oh. No, it's not you. It's me. Oh, I didn't mean it that way. That sounded like a breakup line, and that's not what I mean at all. I want you. I need you. I just feel like there's something wrong with me for wanting you."

"Oh." Firuun took her hand. The left one; her left arm was working fine again, and the ship's doctor had taken off the medical immobilizer. "I wish this were the kind of problem that could be solved by getting into a bar fight."

Carla smiled. "Noboby would fight me while I'm in this chair. And besides, that was my old way of dealing with things. Actually, this is precisely the kind of feeling I used to get rid of with beer and fists."

"Is that progress, then?"

"Maybe."

"So, about the part where you said you want me…"

She smiled. "I do, Firuun. In Valen's name, I want you forever. Or as much forever as I can get. And I'm intensely curious to see you out of your armor."

Firuun grinned. He ran a hand over the short pile velvet of her silver hair. "Would now be a good time to start forever?"

"Is this the part where you drag me off to your cave?"

"Just give the word."

"Yes."

Firuun grinned to the ends of his headbones, and picked her up carefully. "I love you, Carla."

He carried her to the ship's appendix, where he did indeed actually drag her inside. That was the best way to get her in there when she could not use her legs.

He undressed her and spread her legs, and performed his hat trick again. When she reached for him, he caught her by both wrists and arranged her arms over her head on the deck. His eyes drank in the way the position perked up her breasts.

"Hey, you say I could see you naked this time."

"Later," Firuun boomed, and entered her. "We have forever."

Again, Firuun kept his crushing weight off of her chest, afraid she might not be able to breathe. Instead the entire mass of his upper body was supported by his fists, which were locked around Carla's wrists.

Fear spiked in her belly at her helplessness. But because it was Firuun, and he loved her, the fear only intensified her pleasure. They both finished quickly.

Firuun flopped down beside her and cast a heavy, dense-boned arm over her. "Sorry. Do what you want now."

Carla slowly and carefully shifted her hips, drawing her legs together, and rolled onto her side in agonizing slowness.

As she was turning toward him, Firuun said, "Maybe I should explain before you see."

"Firuun, I've already guessed you must have scars under there, and you're self-conscious about them. I used to be really self-conscious about mine."

"Your scars only enhance your beauty," Firuun rumbled. "Because they show how much you've survived. They're like medals of your fierce fighting spirit." He touched one of the scratch-scars on her chest. "The fire that burns in your heart is the same fire that burns in mine."

"I don't think of those that way. Maybe the actual combat scars. And the surgical scars from fixing broken bones and organs damaged in combat. But not those."

"How many of these scratch scars do you have?"

"Eight on my arms. Four on my chest. Six on my stomach. Four on my legs. Twenty two altogether."

"Did you get several at the same time?"

"No. Twenty two separate occasions."

"I saw this done to Sheridan, you know. If he had become incapacitated, I would have had to take his place. I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I volunteered. Who would expect the baltor mar, at the Ritual of Endurance? I'm not ashamed to say it scared me down to my toes."

Carla started in on the fastenings of his armor. "So let's see you now."

"I never talk about this," Firuun said. "Firstly, because I felt, who am I to complain about this, when my clan was doing the exact same thing? Harboring Deathwalker in secret."

"Doing what?" Carla asked. She bared his chest and saw a sprinkling of strange little moon-crater scars across it. "What are these?"

In English, he said, "Pock marks." Then he switched back to Minbari. "And later, when Dilis took to Jador as a kind of mother figure, and her experiments were so important to her, I couldn't let anyone in the clan know. It would get back to Dilis, and I didn't want her to feel bad about what she was doing. Her experimentation with Jador's biowarfare plague was her only work and her only hobby, an all consuming passion, and I didn't want to spoil it for her."

"In Valen's name. Firuun, these are from biological weapons?"

"They never did work they way they wanted them to. We got sick, yes, but none of us died. Eventually they concluded it was a mistake to try to adapt a human virus to kill Minbari. They scientists and guards were all immunized, of course. And the lab was in a space habitat, where it could easily be sealed off if it got out. I imagine there were all kinds of decon routines for the supply shuttles."

"They experimented on you. We did, I mean."

"You don't have to say 'we' just because it was Earth Force, Carla. You've never included me in the blame when you talk about Tifar."

"All this time, I thought you'd been treated well as a prisoner of war."

"I was. By Sheridan. And the people under his command. But that only lasted until the Lexington was towed to a repair yard. Then I was transferred to a regular prison, with a small wing for captured Minbari. The first thing that happened was that I got into a fistfight with another Minbari over the subject of Starkiller. They had all heard what happened before I got there; the regular prison had TVs in the cells, and they put the news on every day. Anyway I got in a fight, and the guards had to club me unconscious to get me off the other Minbari. After that I was kept in protective isolation. But then the scientists came. And they took all the Minbari prisoners away to the space habitat."

Carla pulled at Firuun's armor again, and he took it the rest of the way off.

"Firuun, I…" she shook her head. "Now it's my turn to say I wish this could be fixed by getting in a bar fight."

"Well. Now you know. I didn't want to explain all this the first time, just in case it turned out that I was going to be like pickled flarn chips: something you try as a novelty and never open a bag of again."

"Firuun!" Carla objected. But she was smiling.

"This is not exactly a romantic story," Firuun said.

"Bit of a mood spoiler?" Carla asked. She ran a hand over his chest, feeling his scars.

"A bit, yes."

"Well, good thing you're Minbari, then. You can still screw even if you're not in the mood." Carla smoothed her hand down his hairless body to the always-ready.

This time, they took their time. They had forever.

End of Chapter 9. Story continues in Chapter 10.


	10. Chapter 10

Punch 10

Whitestar 97 docked with Babylon 5. Many members of the crew began leave rotations. Nelonn declined his; even though Shona was dead, the place held too many unpleasant memories. And besides which, all the sorts of entertainment establishments that catered to spacers were too adult for him. That was how he had ended up in her clutches in the first place.

Carla, though, was not on shore leave. She floated along beside Firuun and Khunnier, in line to get through station customs, and remarked, "We've faced Shadow vessels. We've faced pirates. We've faced Minbari revolutionaries bent on fracturing the Minbari Federation. But now I'm going to face the most dreadful opponent in the galaxy: lawyers."

Firuun said, "It can't be that bad. You're a witness for the prosecution. You're not on trial."

Carla snorted. "You watch. The defense will put me on trial. My word, my character. That's what they do. I'm the key to turning the whole thing, because everything else the founders of New Life have done was under orders from the Clarkist government. Without my testimony about Patty Luiere, they can say they're reformed and trying to do God's work, spreading hope and good cheer throughout the galaxy. And people will want to believe them. Who wants to think a safe haven charity for abused women is a front for laundering criminal pasts? That the women are just props to make them look good, and let them feel good about themselves, while promoting the exact same kind of dependence and fear the women were trying to run away from?"

Carla spotted someone else arriving: a human with an old fashioned leather briefcase. She recognized it before she recognized him. It was still made of extinct crocodile, with fancy brass fittings, and an old scratch mark on the corner. He had developed white hair and a non-regulation beer gut.

"In Valen's name, it's Jason Hernandez. He must be here for the New Life trial."

The old lawyer was past customs, but apparently waiting for his assistants. He looked around curiously at all the aliens.

Carla said, "I've got to say hello. We're probably on opposite sides, but I just have to say hi at least. He was my hope of heaven during a very dark time in my life, and he delivered on every promise."

When the three of them were clear, Carla zipped up to Hernandez, her officers following in her wake. "Hey Hernandez! Have you made General yet?"

Hernandez turned, smiling. "I haven't been in the service since forever. I'm sorry, I can't place you. Were you a fellow jag or a client?"

"Client. Sergeant Punch."

His white brows lifted, and his eyes traveled over her, as if double-checking what he had seen on first glance. "You're a Ranger?"

"Yeah, long story." Carla smiled and waved a dismissive hand.

"I bet it is."

"Let me introduce my officers. Jason Hernandez, courtroom wizard and media darling, Firuun, my first officer, and Khunnier, my tactical officer."

Hernandez's smile faded. "You're Ranger Captain Punch. The star witness."

"I know, you're a defense lawyer, you're probably here for the other side. We shouldn't talk about the case. But how could I see you after all these years and not say howdy?"

"This is… unforeseen. I'm glad to see you made something of yourself, Captain. I wish we were meeting again under different circumstances. I'd love to catch up with you, as a friend, go out for a beer maybe, if I had time. But I have a job to do. Nothing personal. I always liked you. But I don't think we'll be able to be friends after this."

Carla's expression fell, and then hardened.

"Ah, there's my team. Good to see you, Captain. Nice meeting you two." Hernandez strode away.

"He's going to take me apart," Carla said.

Firuun leaned down and patted her shoulder. "You've stood up to worse than him."

"I've lain down for worse than him, too. He was my own lawyer, Firuun. In the loribond case. He knows things about me no one else knows but the old members of the Loribond Victims' Support Group and a couple of dead Minbari."

"You'll be alright," Firuun said. "It's only words. He's not going to interrogate you the bad way."

Carla said, "We humans have a little rhyme we teach to our children. 'Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me.' It's a lie, of course. We humans lie a lot, you know."

Khunnier said, "Does human law have a rule against using what you told him in confidence against you?"

"Yes. But if he's clever, and he is, he can use it without actually revealing any confidential information. I can't face this. He's going to dig it all back up again. I'm already weirded out enough as it is. Sometimes I wake up in the sleeping room and look at the faces of my crew and for a moment they frighten me. Before I remember I'm the Captain of the ship."

Carla looked up at Firuun. There was a gentle sadness in his eyes. "So," he boomed, "beer?"

Carla giggled. "After the meeting, sure."

They continued on to their meeting with the chief of the prosecution team, a venerable Narn who was a respected expert on the atrocities of warfare. On his homeworld he was well known for pursuing justice against the Centauri. The Alliance had tapped him for this trial for his expertise, the respect he commanded in the Alliance, and his gift for oratory.

His name was V'Non, which almost sounded Minbari when spoken. He was wrinkled but still sound of body, like an apple overwintered in a barrel.

V'Non did not take Carla's fears about Hernandez seriously, patting her hand as if this were just an ordinary bout of stage fright. He seemed to think her mere appearance, in a wheelchair and wearing an eyepatch, would be enough to get Luiere put away. And then Luiere would rat out the rest of them, in return for a reduced sentence. That was V'Non's plan.

Carla said nothing about this revelation. But her gut churned day and night.

On the day of the trial, Firuun and Khunnier accompanied her once again, to lend moral support from the audience.

She got through her testimony alright, with V'Non carefully reconstructing the events she had witnessed. But then Hernandez got up to cross-examine her.

"You know me, don't you?" Hernandez began.

"Yes."

"As what?"

"You were my lawyer in the loribond case."

"What was the verdict?"

"I was found not guilty."

"By reason of mental reprogramming. Right?"

"Yes." Her voice was starting to go a little shaky.

"Reprogramming by the Minbari, while you were a prisoner of war. Yes?"

"Yes."

"You draw veterans' benefits for a mental disability. What is it?"

V'Non stood up. "Objection! Relevance."

Hernandez said, "The witness's sanity is in question. My line of questioning goes to her credibility."

"Overruled," said the chief judge, a human. "You may continue, Mr. Hernandez."

The old lawyer turned back to Carla. "What is your mental disability, officially?"

Carla sighed and looked down. "Officially. I've been given several different diagnoses."

"One of them is Stockholm Syndrome. Isn't it?"

"Yes," Carla whispered.

Hernandez turned to the assembled worthies. "The details of this human malady have been presented on Exhibit T. I have an expert witness standing by to answer any questions your honors may have. As you can see on the summary sheet, the major symptoms include identifying with one's captors, adopting their ways and philosophies, working for them, even fighting for them against one's own people."

Hernandez turned back to Carla. "What do you do for living now?"

"I'm a Ranger." There was no pride in her voice at this statement. She knew exactly what Hernandez was doing with this line of questioning. Everything she had 'made of herself', as he had put it when they talked in the arrivals area of the port, was going to sound like a symptom of madness.

"You're sworn to live and die for Entilza Delenn, a Minbari. Right?"

"I know how that sounds," Carla said. "But it's not like that. I was nothing before. I had no purpose. Now I'm a ship captain. Powerful and respected. Minbari serve me, they obey me. I'm not some kind of slave."

"Really. Who makes all the refit decisions on your ship?"

"My first officer and chief engineer, Firuun."

"Who makes the personnel decisions?"

"Firuun."

"Who makes up the training schedules?"

"Firuun."

"Who arranges the combat tournaments and decides on the prizes?"

"Firuun."

"What decisions do you make, Captain?"

"Combat decisions. In battle."

"So the Minbari make all the important decisions and you pull the trigger. Just like before."

"No! It's not like that." Carla's eyes shone with unshed tears.

"This Firuun is the real captain of Whitestar 97, and you're a figurehead with a shiny pin. Aren't you?"

"No." Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"This Firuun even has his way with you, like your captors did on Tifar, making you their—" Hernandez's voice changed, going quiet, all his focus now on Carla instead of playing to the crowd, and he bent down toward her, "—little human whore."

"No!" Carla shrieked. "How could you?" She punched his nose, but it did not break. She had aimed a left-handed blow at him, since the controls to her chair were in her right hand, and the left arm was still weak.

"Objection!" shouted V'Non.

Hernandez reeled back, probing his nose to make sure it was in one piece.

"Ask not for whom the bell tolls!" Carla cried. She zipped her chair toward the exit, screaming hysterically.

Firuun and Khunnier jumped up from the audience and ran after her.

V'Non exclaimed, "Your honors, excuse the witness while she calms down!"

Carla screamed through her tears, "In Valen's name you'll fear the flash of silver Hernandez! You'll never see me coming in the night!"

Then she was out the door and her wails turned into throaty wolf-howls of anger and weeping. The people in the courtroom heard the echoes diminish as she got further away, until Hernandez called for his psychological expert and V'Non called for a recess.

Firuun and Khunnier caught up with her around a bend in the corridor. She was sitting in her chair with her face buried in her hands, weeping.

"Carla!" Firuun boomed. He tried to take her hand, but she slapped it away.

"Get the hell away from me!"

Firuun lowered his voice. "Carla, it's me."

She wiped her face and looked up. "I knew he would find some way to use what he knows against me. I was expecting it, and I still fell for it. He wanted to prove I'm insane, and I acted totally insane. I lost it."

Khunnier asked, "What happened in there?"

"Oh, Khunnier, he said my phrase." Fresh tears welled up, and she sobbed and wiped her face and nose on her uniform sleeve.

"What?" Firuun asked.

Khunnier was faster on the uptake. " 'Little human whore' is your loribond command phrase?"

Nodding, Carla wiped her eyes and sniffed. She was pale, and shaking.

Firuun tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder. She did not strike out or flinch away, so Firuun picked her up and embraced her, holding her to his chest with his arms across her back, her legs dangling in the air. After a moment, Carla put her arms around him and her head down on his armored shoulder.

She wept until she was out of tears, and then Firuun settled her gently back down in her chair.

She held Firuun's hand, but addressed her concerns to Khunnier.

"Khunnier? Are they right about me?"

Khunnier pursed his lips, thinking hard. Finally, with eyes downcast, he said, "You want me to reassure you. That you do not have that particular problem."

The silence stretched on, and Khunnier would not meet Carla's eyes.

She was all cried out, but her voice was small as she said, "But you can't say that. Because you're Minbari, and Minbari don't lie."

He looked up. "Why do humans consider the psychological process of making peace to be pathological?"

"What?" Carla asked.

Khunnier continued, "You worked hard to overcome your fear and hatred."

"That's true," Firuun agreed. "You spent years doing that."

Khunnier said, "Yes, you have come to identify with us. To be part of our culture, as a member of the Anla'shok. That is an honor. If your own people think that's an illness, then there's something wrong with them, not with you."

Carla nodded. "This isn't unrecoverable. I'll explain about the phrase. V'Non will have to bring in his own expert to show I know reality. It will all work out. Before I go back in there I'd better get ahold of myself. I'm going to meditate. This can still come out all right, with luck and Valen's blessing."

"I don't believe in Valen," said Firuun.

Carla said, "I do."

End of Chapter 10. Story continues in Chapter 11.


	11. Chapter 11

Punch 11

The grotto light rippled in time to Firuun's movements. Or he entrained to it, more likely, which was much less hair-raising to comtemplate.

Carla thought, how did we end up here again? How did I go from am-I-crazy to I'm-crazy-for-you in the time it took to get back to the ship? No matter. They had forever, in here, away from lawyers and cameras and questions. A Minbari could go as long as he could stay awake.

Carla wondered again whether she loved Firuun. He thought he'd found his soul mate, and she—had Stockholm Syndrome. Gah. That was too tragic to think about. Better not to think too hard about why she was here, underneath the black armor moving above her in the grotto light. Better to just take what enjoyment she could in life and let her heart take care of itself.

A sudden sound and a shudder passed through the ship. The lights flickered, and came back on even more dimly than before. "Self-heal," Firuun said, coming to a stop.

Carla recognized it too. It was the way the ship repaired itself after combat damage. She reached for her clothes. "We're in dock. What could have happened?"

Instead of moving off and helping her with her clothes, Firuun rammed in, hurrying. "Too close to stop now," he gasped, and he was a steel pile-driver inside her. "Have to eject or I'll get stuck."

"Ow! Ow! Firuun, you're hurting me!" Too fast, too hard, too deep, too thick, too unyielding.

Then something shifted inside her. Her hip bones moved, and she opened out with an audible sigh of relaxation, physically and mentally. A peculiar buzzing peace came to her, a stillness that expanded forever.

She grabbed his buns and pulled him even deeper into her. They both cried out.

"Sorry," Firuun whispered, pulling out.

"No, that was great," Carla panted. She flippered at her clothes, too undone to sit up. "Let's do it again next time. Help me with my pants."

Firuun put himself away. "No time. I'll come back for you." He started to slide out of the appendix, backwards into the crawlway. "Whatever's out there is a job for an engineer."

"You get me out of here right now!" Carla shrieked, sounding almost as hysterical as she had this morning when she flew out of the courtroom. She sat bolt upright and pulled on her uniform shirt and vest, which made her eyepatch slide down around her neck. "My ship! I should be out there!"

Carla bent her knee with a horrible stifled groan of pain through clenched teeth, and got herself into her pants, not bothering with the undies. She managed to get herself turned toward the crawlway, and felt something pop in her knee.

"Carla! Alright, alright!" Firuun grabbed her vest and pulled her out, tossing her butt-upward over his shoulder so he could use both hands on the ladder. He shifted her to his accustomed carrying position in his arms when he got to the catwalk.

His boots rattled on the catwalk as he charged down into main engineering. "Report!" he thundered at the lone crewer.

"Fighter bay, clan chief."

Firuun dumped Carla into her chair and ran off toward the fighter bay.

Carla righted her eyepatch and zipped off right behind him.

They reached the fighter bay, only to find the pressure door down and sealed. The crowd by the monitor in the wall gave way for Firuun. He flipped through screens, assessing the conditions in the bay.

Carla, who had been speaking English all day in the courtroom, and thinking about her past as a Gropo, and had not done much speaking or thinking in the ship's appendix, shouted in English, "Make a hole, you slugs!"

Even those members of her crew who did speak English did not understand this expression, but they gave way for her. She floated up to Firuun, the power source of her chair glowing blue.

"Hard vacuum in the bay," Firuun announced. "Hull integrity is positive, there is no breach. Bay doors opened automatically for fire suppression."

"Is the fire out?" Carla asked tightly.

"Yes. Bay doors are closing, pumping air back into the bay." As soon as there was enough atmosphere, the pressure door whooshed up into the ceiling, and Firuun opened the more prosaic door behind it.

Nelonn was sitting in one of the fighters, looking as pale and big-eyed as a Stribe. He popped the canopy and got out as soon as she saw people coming in, showing there was atmosphere in the bay.

"Did you get in the fighter when the bay doors opened?" Firuun boomed.

"Yes?" Nelonn responded. He was shaking a little, either in reaction to almost having depressurized or in fear of punishment, or both.

"Good job saving yourself, then. Why did you need to?"

Nelonn squeaked, "Bowling?" His eyes darted to a bunch of canisters all over the floor, most of them close to the outer bay doors, where they had been sucked by the depressurization. He shrugged and added, "It's a human game I heard about."

Carla picked up one of the vaguely bowling-pin shaped canisters. "Liquid hydrogen." She was still speaking English, and she let off a stream of invective like the sergeant she had once been. "What were you thinking, you stupid boneheaded recruit? I think some bay-cleaning is in order. Probably involving a toothbrush."

"Carla!" Firuun hissed.

She had never heard him whisper when he was not trying to make his voice gentle sounding. It took her a few moments to realize he was trying to alert her to something privately. Then she realized what she had said.

She switched back to the warrior caste language. "I'm sorry, Nelonn. I meant that the way I'd say it to another human. For a moment, I not only forgot you aren't an adult, I forgot you aren't a Marine."

The boy blinked at her, even paler than before, but at least he was no longer shaking. Focusing on somebody else's mistake must have been good for him. "Thanks, I think. I knew you didn't mean it like that. I know what you did for me."

"What?"

"The whole crew is talking about it. When Mr. Allen came to talk to you, Firuun said you'd been on the ship all day, with him. But I saw you coming back aboard. Don't worry, we'll all back up Firuun. It's well within Minbari honor to save face for our captain that way."

Carla just stared, with her one eye. Then she looked up at Firuun. "Well I'll be damned."

"Not by any Minbari diety," Firuun said. "The Anla'shok are supposed to act as vigilantes, when they see the need. It's part of your mandate."

The other crew members came in from the corridor then, after getting the monitor in the wall out in the corridor shut off and put back in hidden storage.

"What were you using for a bowling ball?" Carla asked, looking around the bay. She did not see anything round on the deck.

"A shell casing," Nelonn said. As Firuun drew breath to shout at him, Nelonn quickly put in, "It was empty! I took the explosive charge out. I just didn't realize the trigger could still throw a spark."

The veins in Firuun's neck stuck out. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Carla, what's a toothbrush?"

"What, Minbari don't clean your teeth?"

"Sure. We use picks of relah bark if there's something in them."

"I mean to prevent cavities, not just for looks."

Firuun stared at her. "Humans can get holes in their teeth? Aren't you teeth made of bone just like ours?"

"Sure, they're made of bone, but not like yours. Human bone."

"Oh."

"Anyway, it's a very small brush." Carla made a measuring gesture with her hands.

"Very tempting, but it would probably make the ship uncomfortable. I'm fairly sure it actually feels pain, in a rudimentary sort of way." Firuun looked at the blackened spot on the deck, which was glowing with regeneration around the edges, and would be back to normal all by itself soon enough. "That hurt it, Nelonn."

Nelonn looked down, waiting for whatever was coming.

Carla said, "I'll give some more thought to some task to keep you out of trouble. Too bad we don't have to dig any latrines in this port."

Firuun said, "Maybe I was wrong. Nelonn wasn't ready for duty aboard a ship after all."

"Please!" Nelonn begged, his voice cracking. "Please don't send me home! I'll never do it again!"

"You could have died!" Firuun thundered.

"I know. I barely made it inside the fighter. I could feel the oxygen whistling out the bay door. Whatever you decide to do to punish me, it can't be as frightening as that! But please don't send me home. Maybe I'm not ready, maybe I'm just a stupid kid, and maybe I shouldn't be out here yet, but I'll never get a chance to try again later if you send me back now. It'll be just like Sharn and the airlock, and no other ship will ever have me. Please, uncle."

Firuun went very still.

Carla glanced at him, wondering what the story was. She knew Sharn was Firuun's retarded son who had committed suicide. But she had not heard anything about an airlock.

One of the crewmembers rebuked Nelonn, "Don't remind him of that! You really are a stupid kid. You've got no common sense at all."

Carla said, "That's enough of that kind of talk. I was angry, but I should not have said what I said, and neither should the rest of you. Labels have a way of sticking." Right then, the label uppermost in her mind was the diagnosis stuck on her forehead like a scarlet letter in the GoMAPM Adjustment Center.

Carla pointed a skinny, gnarled finger at Nelonn. "You are going to do the worst jobs on the ship for the whole next month. Cleaning out the organic recycle, maybe. Whatever there is to do."

Nelonn looked like he was going to say something, but sucked in his lip.

Firuun said, "He already does. He's junior."

"Darn," Nelonn whispered. Apparently that had been what he had just been thinking.

"We'll think of something," Carla said. She thought, suddenly, that she, Firuun, and Nelonn were of the right ages and genders to be parents talking to a naughty child. "Is he too old to spank?"

"Carla!" Firuun looked scandalized.

"Guess so," Carla concluded.

Nelonn had gone white again, and was staring at her and holding utterly still. His shoulders were hunched up in a way that made him look a little like a turtle. He was holding his breath.

Was that really so scary? The kid must have gotten at least a few bruises in the denn'bok tournaments. Well, that wasn't really the same, and Carla knew it. That was combat, and combat was a whole different animal from a beating. What was she thinking? This wasn't Admiral Nelson's Navy.

"Something will occur to me," Carla said. "In the meantime, Nelonn, you can start by picking up this bay and getting that gear properly stowed."

"Yes, Captain!" Nelonn scampered away, grabbing up an armful of canisters.

"Is that a good idea?" Firuun rumbled.

"Which part?" Carla asked. "Is he right about what would happen if you sent him back to the clan fortress?"

"Yes," Firuun sighed. "But I was wrong to bring him out here this early. I want to protect him."

"So do I," Carla said. "But we can do that by finding him some completely unpleasant task to perform on the ship. The devil makes hands for idle work, or something like that."

Days stretched on which Firuun and Carla found plenty of completely unpleasant chores for Nelonn, including scrubbing out the one and only part of the ship that was not self-cleaning, the salvaged Earth shower.

And Firuun and Carla found plenty of things to do together that were very pleasant indeed. At least one of which involved the Earth shower.

End of Chapter 11. Story continues in Chapter 12.


	12. Chapter 12

Punch 12

"Finally, that's over," Carla said on her way out of the court's witness waiting area. Her final appearance had been damage control, but she had had to come back and hang around in case she was called again.

"Think they'll convict?" asked Firuun.

"Even if they do, Patty is going to walk. At least on that charge. In return for testifying against the rest of the diabolical pantheon."

"Human law is strange," said Khunnier. "And this Alliance trial seems to be going entirely by human rules."

"You're right, it does," Carla said. "But then, most of the New Life group's crimes were on Earth. That part's next. But luckily, we don't have to be here for that. My new eyes are supposed to be here in two days, and after that we can get back to the peace and quiet of our patrol."

"Let's celebrate," said Firuun.

"Great idea! How about the casino? I could use a beer, but I don't think a bar fight is on the agenda."

The three of them went to the casino, where Khunnier proved once and for all that he was not at all telepathic by consistently losing at every game he tried.

"Hey, look. It's Birenn." Firuun pointed away from the table games.

"Where?" Carla worked the controls of her countergrav chair and floated up above the heads of the crowd. When she got up to the same height as Firuun, she could see Birenn too, on the stage.

"We should go have a look," Khunnier said. "Just to make sure she really is not being abused, of course."

Carla floated back down to the chair's normal cruising height four inches from the floor. "Sure," she snorted. "You'll only be looking to see if she has any bruises. Right. Well, by the time she's done with her act, she sure won't be concealing much, I'll give you that. Go ahead, you two, I'm going to the bar. I hear a beer calling my name."

"I could come with you," Firuun offered.

"Naw, go see Birenn. If I've learned one thing, it's to grab life by the horns."

Firuun's pupils dilated and he inhaled deeply. In a strangled voice, he said, "We could go back to the ship."

Carla smiled. Firuun was clearly just as turned on by her as she was by him, Valen knew why. She certainly wasn't much to look at. "Plenty of time for that later."

"We have forever," Firuun grinned. Then he waded into the crowd after Khunnier.

Carla went over to the casino's bar and saw a familiar pudgy face. She joined the richly attired fellow at the bar, adjusting her chair's floating height to mimic the barstools.

"Hi, Vir. You probably don't recognize me. It's Carla. And you were right." She gestured to her Anla'shok pin. "Sorry for the subterfuge, I was undercover at the time."

"Oh! Hello. Yes, I remember you. And I've seen you on the news."

"Oh. I probably didn't make such a great impression, then."

"You were very, very brave. And you punched a lawyer in the nose, what better impression could you make? Brrr, lawyers."

Carla laughed.

Then someone called her name. For a moment she did not recognize the voice, it was such a non sequitur to hear it here, in space. She turned her chair around. The woman was dough-faced, dressed in thirty year old exercise gear, had staticky hair dyed blonde, and was descending on Carla with her arms out for a hug.

"Carla! Oh my poor baby!"

"Mom?"

Mrs. Punch embraced her, and Carla's arms went around the narrow shoulders in automatic reaction.

"Oh Carla, sweetie, what have those awful Minbaries done to you?"

"Oh. Mom, no, Patty Luiere did this. He's going to jail. It's all OK."

Daniella Punch let go and pulled back to a conversational distance. "I saw you on ISN. After all this time, we finally find out where you went! And like this! You never called, or wrote. I talked to Ike, and he said you stayed out here, on Babylon 5, but I couldn't get a message to you. But now we found you at last! I've been waiting to catch you away from those two boneheads who follow you everywhere. Come away now, it's safe, come home."

"Come home to what? Dependency and unemployment? I tried for years to find a decent job on Earth, you know that."

"It's OK, Carla, your father and I don't mind, really. We pushed you too hard to get out there and try, we know that now. Just come home. We fixed up a room for you. Your father will take you sailing. We're both retired now, and your father bought a boat. He'd love to share it with you."

"Really?" For a moment, this conjured up the very best memories of Carla's childhood. Then she remembered, "But he wouldn't even talk to me when I tried to come home."

"He didn't understand. I always did, you know that, honey. You don't have to have a job, just take your meds and everything will be OK."

"I'm not crazy."

"No, no, of course not, you've had a terrible experience, it's perfectly normal to react to that, but you don't want to be depressed, honey. They'll make you feel better."

Carla shook her head. "Pills can't fix my life, mom."

"Oh Carla honey! My poor sweet baby!"

"Mom, stop it. My life doesn't need to be fixed anymore. I'm a ship captain."

Daniella Punch flapped her hands in distress, but then she cut herself off mid-wail. She pointed past Carla down the bar. "Ew! What is that! How hideous! Oh, how can you stand to look at the monsters?"

Carla glanced over her shoulder. "What?" All she saw were perfectly normal aliens.

"That, that, that thing with the spots! The horrible slug thing!"

Carla did not see a horrible slug thing. She blinked at her mother in confusion.

"You, young man," Mrs. Punch addressed Vir, who had just finished his drink and was trying to sidle away from the embarrassing humans. "What is that thing?"

"That is a Narn, madame. And it is actually a marsupial. They're not so bad once you get to know them. Well, except for the ones who've sworn to kill people with this hair," Vir gestured to his Centauri hairstyle, which he was wearing higher than he had before he became the Ambassador. "And they're, whhhff, you don't want to mess with them, but some of them, some of them can be great to know, if, if you don't mind the whole, uhh…"

"They kill people with sideways Mohawks?" Mrs. Punch exclaimed. "What are they, the fashion police? In that shiny green outfit they shouldn't be casting stones!"

Carla rolled her eyes. "I don't know this person." She sighed. "You and dad should come see my ship. She's magnificent. I'll detail a crewmember to see to your needs while you're my guests." She grinned suddenly, and vented an evil laugh. "I'll tell Nelonn this is his bowling trophy." Carla figured a couple of days doing chores for her parents would be enough punishment for his next two offenses too.

"Oh no. Not with them," Mrs. Punch objected. "The Minbari."

"I'll have my crew escort us around the station, too. There are some places around here you really don't want to go by yourself. But they're worth seeing, in a big enough group. Nelonn might be willing to leave the ship if he's protecting someone else. Those headaches he keeps saying he gets from being around all the people might just clear right up if he's got something to focus on."

Daniella Punch said, "Come to our hotel room. Your father's dying to see you. We can all catch up."

"Why doesn't he come here? If you really don't want to see the ship, we could talk here in the bar."

"Well, it's nice and quiet at the hotel. Restful."

"Private?" Carla asked, a suspicion starting in her back brain.

"That too, we can talk openly, just family."

Carla took out her commlink. "I'll have to let my crew know where I'm going. Firuun and Khunnier will worry if I just disappear from the bar."

"You have to check in with the Minbari? To see your parents? Carla, honey…"

"What's the hotel and room number? I'll have my officers pick me up there in two hours."

Mrs. Punch shook her head sadly. She quoted a hotel and room number, but she did it after a telltale hesitation.

"Why are you lying?"

"Honey, you know I love you."

Carla's beer finally arrived. She set down her commlink and the controls to her chair in her lap, blew off the foamy head, and took a sip of the amber colored brew. "Ahh, nice. Beer's not something we stock in ship's stores, you know."

While Carla had her hands on the bar, Mrs. Punch snatched the link and the chair controls from Carla's lap.

"Hey!"

"Your father and I just want to help you, honey." Mrs. Punch worked the chair controls, and Carla started floating toward the door.

"Vir!" Carla called out. "Tell Firuun—he's the giant Minbari! In there!" Carla pointed toward the club room where Birenn was performing.

Mrs. Punch got the hang of the controls very quickly, and sped up the chair, running at its side.

As they approached the door, Carla extended her denn'bok and braced it against both sides of the doorframe. But the chair's motor was powerful, and Carla could not hold her arms against the chair's push. The metal pole crushed against her chest, and it was riding up alarmingly toward her throat.

Mrs. Punch backed the chair up just enough to free the Pike, which some burly fellow in the doorway managed to yank out of Carla's grasp. Who the hell was that? She wondered.

Then she was through the doorway and out in the corridor outside the casino. Her mother and the burly guy seemed to be working together. He paced along beside the chair as Mrs. Punch ran behind it, zipping the chair along as fast as it would go. The big man closed down her Pike and shoved it inside his jacket. There were probably other weapons in there.

Carla suddenly realized what was going on. They had come to take her away. The burly man was probably just a big oaf hired to do the job, but he might be working for deprogrammers, or more likely headshrinkers.

Carla planted both hands at the sides of her chair and pushed herself out of it. She fell to the ground as the chair kept on going forward. Her broken legs hit the floor and she cried out.

Mrs. Punch got the chair under control and the burly man lifted Carla up like a sack of potatoes.

"Help me!" Carla called to no one in particular. The passersby paid her no mind.

"Of course we'll help you, Carla honey," said her mother. "Get her back in the chair, Don."

"No!" Carla found that trying to wrestle with Don was as useless as trying to wrestle a Minbari. She did not have the mass, the strength, or the leverage. She was bitterly reminded once again that her muscles had just drained out of her body after her stomach was damaged and she lost too much weight. Her body didn't work the way it used to, even the parts that did not have broken bones.

Something poked her arm. Don was injecting her with something.

Horrified, Carla tried again to call out to passersby, but the world wavered and everything went dark.

End of Chapter 12. Story continues in Chapter 13.


	13. Chapter 13

Punch 13

'Did I just witness a kidnapping?' Vir asked himself. 'No, it couldn't be, the old woman was Carla's mother.'

Vir turned back to the bar. Then he heard a metallic clang behind him, and turned around to see the petite Ranger struggling with a man in the doorway.

Vir jumped up, but was still not sure if he should help. 'I shouldn't get involved. I barely know this woman,' he told himself. 'I have enough to deal with just with internal Centauri problems.'

The burly man got the Ranger's denn'bok away from her.

"Hey!" shouted the Narn, directing his words to the bartender. "Call security! Those racists are abducting a Ranger!"

Then they were gone from the doorway.

'The Narn is right,' Vir thought. 'I've never even heard another Centauri say something so awful about Narns.' That did it. He followed them outside.

The kidnappers and the antigravity chair were far down the corridor. Vir ran after them. Soon he started puffing to keep up.

He saw Carla spill herself out of her chair. 'Oh, clever girl, that'll slow them down.' Vir put on an extra burst of speed, but was still a dozen feet away when the kidnappers got the chair moving again. They were headed for the elevator. Vir was never going to get there in time.

Then a figure in shiny green and brown armor whizzed past him. The Narn tackled the burly man and the two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of fists and curses.

Vir caught up but did not quite get there in time to prevent the old woman from getting the unconscious Ranger into the lift. Vir looked down and saw the Narn getting slowly and painfully to his feet. His human opponent was on the deck, gasping like a fish, probably hit in the solar plexus.

Vir took the Narn's arm and helped him to his feet. "Are you OK?"

The Narn looked startled, but that was quickly replaced by a look of comprehension. "Fine, Ambassador Cotto."

"Keep him here." Vir pointed at the burly man on the floor. "I'll find security." Vir bustled away.

\

Carla came awake blearily. She was not in her chair. She was lying down, horizontally. She felt cloth under her hands. She was in a bed. A human bed.

Everything reeled, and she felt dizzy and nauseous. And out of breath. Muzzily, she groaned, "How do you people sleep on these things?"

"Oh sweetheart!" Her mother's voice. Was she dreaming? She hadn't seen her mother in years, even before she left Earth.

"You're awake! Are you feeling OK? Oh my poor baby!"

Carla remembered. She opened her eye. She was in a small hotel room. No: there was a vibration coming through the floor up the bedframe, and she vaguely heard a series of clanks. She was in a private cabin in a ship, undocking.

Daniella Punch took her hand. "Soon you'll be home, on Earth. You're going to a special program. It's new. Not the veterans' hospital, a private clinic with all the latest. You're going to be all better. You're going to be my little girl again, and those horrible aliens won't be able to get at you anymore."

Carla tried to pull her hand out of her mother's grasp, and found that even her reduced post-injury strength had deserted her. She could move a little, but not enough to get out of the elderly woman's grip. Drugs. It must be drugs.

She should be afraid. She feared mental hospitals more than anything else in this universe, including Patty Luiere, Shadows, Inoja's puppet theater, and the baltor mar. She knew she feared it, but there was no answering emotion inside her. The drugs had dulled her emotions, as they always did. As they were designed to do.

Another voice, younger, but still female: "Don't bother, Mrs. Punch. She won't remember any of this anyway."

Not remember? "What are you going to do to me?" Carla asked, her words coming out slow and slurred from the drugs.

"You're going to be OK," said Daniella, patting Carla's arm. "Erase all the trauma, go back to the way you were, before the aliens got inside your mind. You'll be happy again."

"Erase?" Carla cried. In her mind she heard an accusing voice: Murderess, it whispered. Death of personality.

Carla shook free of the voice, and her own voice called out in her mind: 'Firuun! Firuun!'

Her mother said, "Don't worry, the process is completely painless. You've been in a dark place, but it will soon be over. You're going to be fine, my sweet baby."

"Dark place…" Carla mumbled. "I walk in the dark places, where no one else will enter… I stand on the bridge…" She reverted to her accustomed Minbari. "Live for the One… die for the One…"

"What's she saying?" Mrs. Punch asked.

"I don't speak bonehead either. But that first part she said in English is the Ranger Credo. She's been totally absorbed into that cult. We'd better get her out of that cult outfit and into a normal dress. Which suitcase has her clothes in it?"

"That red one. But nothing's going to fit. She's so skinny! Those awful Minbaries have been starving her."

"We'll find something that will work. A dress, not a two piece outfit, and then it won't have a waistband. There, how about that beige one with the pink flowers?"

The cabin door chimed. "Mrs. Punch? Flight attendant. May I speak with you?"

"Go on," said the other woman. "I'll wash and dress her."

Daniella squeezed Carla's hand and said, "Nurse Liddy will take good care of you, honey. I'll be back soon."

Liddy started to undress Carla. It reminded her sharply of Firuun, and for a second she pictured black armor and head spikes like the salt spires of a drought-ridden lake. Then the erotic vision vanished, and there was only this stranger. A female stranger, true, but Inoja had been one too. And Patty Luiere, sort of. And some of the warriors stationed on Tifar.

Fear rose in her like a tide, despite the emotion-flattening drugs. "Valen help me," she moaned.

All self-doubt vanished. She did not care what her motivations were for becoming a Ranger, or for being with Firuun. She did not care if she were crazy by human standards. If she was, that was no different from how things had been since the loribond case retrial. She had no desire to die, but that would be preferable to having her whole adult life just erased like it had never been. Yes, she had had terrible experiences. But they had made her who she was. And what she was. A Ranger, a ship captain. Firuun's lover.

"Firuun." Carla closed her eyes and wished she were cocooned with Firuun in their ship, in the dim grotto light. She wished with all her heart, and all her soul.

End of Chapter 13. Story continued in Chapter 14.


	14. Chapter 14

Punch 14

Birenn's act concluded somewhat short of full nudity. But the audience was appreciative anyway, the novelty value of seeing a Minbari stripper outweighing the disappointment of the strategically placed spangles.

Khunnier wrote something on the casino scrip before going forward to the stage to join the other audience members in adorning her thong with money. When he left the stage area, Firuun asked him, "Was that the ship's comm code?"

"Just in case she ever needs help," Khunnier defended.

The two of them walked to the bar to link up with the captain.

"Let's hope you aren't that obvious on intelligence operations."

"You know I'm not."

"Ah! Then you admit… Where's Carla?"

\

Nelonn reclined on a sleeping platform, eyes closed. He was not asleep, though, only trying to get out of the bright light of the rest of the ship. It was happening again. At the clan fortress, he had gotten headaches around the unruly younger children. They had gone away for a while onboard the Whitestar, around the disciplined minds of the warriors and Rangers. But they had come back when he had entered the loritril dream state.

He started trying to meditate. Khunnier had taught him how, on Renbor's advice; the ship's doctor thought it might relax him and make it better. It had not helped so far, but Nelonn tried it again anyway.

It was in just this state of meditation, reclining on sleeping platforms just like this one, that Minbari telepaths had done mental battle with Shadow vessels in the great Shadow War. Minbari telepaths did not need line of sight like human teeps did.

Nelonn had never seen a Shadow, in real life, but the ones he had conjured in the loritril dream state had been perfectly detailed down to the clicking noise their claws made on the station's metal deck plating.

He felt a different kind of shadow with him now, a great dark shape of fear passing through the room. Not a shape that was fearful to him, but rather an emotion traveling like storm cloud, blowing cold against his skin, a damp electric crackle and then gone.

He opened his eyes and stood up. "Go away, fear cloud," he whispered. "Something's wrong on the station. Something's wrong, with the captain and the landing party. I hate this place. I want the quiet of space."

Well, he could not have that until the ship left the station. But he could have the uncomplicated peace of machinery. He headed for the fighter bay, where he planned to find something to tinker with or polish. Definitely not anything to bowl with.

\

Firuun, Khunnier, and Zack Allen stood just stationside of the customs area, in a hive of departures and arrivals. Humans and aliens of all kinds swarmed around, toting or towing all manner of luggage, including a live goat bleating in the arms of a human in a jewel-pinned headwrap.

Zack handed the documents back to the Earth transport's crewer. "Alright, you can go." The crewer departed.

"Go? What do you mean, go?" Firuun boomed.

"It's a lawful order of commitment, signed by a judge. It's not kidnapping. I have to let them go."

"Earth law," Firuun spat. "And the man you arrested?"

Zack responed, "The man the Narn tackled is a psych tech, fully licensed to administer medicines as prescribed by a doctor. Which these were."

"By someone who's never seen their so called patient?" Firuun thundered.

Zack shrugged. "The law is the law."

"But she is Anla'shok."

"She's still human, and so still subject to Earth law. Rangers aren't above the law, much as they like to think they are."

Khunnier, much less loudly than Firuun but with no less vitriol, accused, "You did not try to find a way out of this because you still suspect Captain Punch in the death of the sociopath Shona Marsu."

"Hey, this isn't my call," Zack said. "I'm not the one who decided that in the Alliance there would be one law for humans and another for Minbari. And so on, each member race governing its own people. You can blame your precious Sheridan for that."

"Now just—" Firuun's fists balled up, and he loomed over Zack.

"Firuun," Khunnier interrupted. "An altercation with station security will gain us nothing and lose precious time."

"Lose time?" Firuun asked.

"We should return to the ship. A political initiative for one law for everyone is a discussion for another time."

Zack said, "I could do even less for you under Minbari law, as I understand it. Or didn't hear the flight attendant? The two psych techs are working for a private clinic, but the old lady, Daniella Punch? She's your captain's mother. By your law, wouldn't that be a clan matter?"

Firuun looked stricken. "Her mother?"

Khunnier said, "Come on, Firuun. We must return to the ship.

Firuun allowed himself to be led, but not as quickly as Khunnier wished. "A clan matter," Firuun repeated.

When they returned to the ship, Firuun gathered the whole crew together in the only place they could all fit at once, the practice arena where they held the denn'bok tournaments. Firuun was too upset to make much of a speech, so he had Khunnier explain what had happened.

The crew was silent for a few seconds, their eyes downcast in grief and despair.

Nelonn pushed to the front of the crowd. "We've got to rescue her."

"It's a clan matter," Firuun said. "We can't intervene."

"She intervened for me," Nelonn said. "You wanted to send me home. End my career before it really began, washed up at 15. She convinced you to let me stay."

"This is—"

"Exactly the same thing! Clan chief, it's the same. Allow them to take her and she'll never return to space."

"He is right," said Khunnier. "She has told us before that she knew her family would not approve of her joining the Anla'shok. She did not go in obedience to her clan, she fought. She fought to stay with us. Now we must fight for her right to stay with us."

"We can't fight her mother. And we certainly can't hijack a civilian starliner, which has broken no laws."

Nelonn said, "Isn't that what we did when we attacked the New Life vessel to rescue our captain? The law came out on our side because of what we found when we boarded her."

"It is not the same situation at all," Firuun said. "Carla was investigating New Life under the orders of Entilza Delenn and Satai Morann. We were under orders from the captain and the Entilza to go in if she failed to signal after making a hyperspace jump or at the prearranged times. This is completely different."

Khunnier said, "Mr. Allen told us that Ambassador Cotto said Carla told him to go get 'the giant Minbari', meaning you, Firuun, obviously, when the kidnapping started. Does that not constitute an order to us to come to her aid? She fought with the denn'bok to avoid being taken. It is clear what her wishes are."

"That's true," said Firuun. "It's true. And I want so much to bring her back here! She's more than a superior officer to me. My heart will burst if I do nothing, and she never comes back to me. To us. But… her mother…"

"Is not anything like a clan chief," said Khunnier. "You know it's different for humans."

"That's true," Firuun agreed. "When I first learned the human language, I spent several weeks reading novels supplied to me by a female human. These books made it clear that human adults make their own decisions about what occupation to pursue, and where to live, and who to marry." Firuun hesitated, lost in some dreadful memory. Then his face cleared, and hope shone in his eyes. "Yes!" he boomed. "We go to rescue the captain! All hands to battle stations!"

End of Chapter 14. Story continues in Chapter 15.


	15. Chapter 15

Punch 15

Daniella Punch was rattling on with her plans for Carla's new life. "And you'll never have to see those awful Minbaries again."

'Never see Firuun again?' Carla wanted to cry, but the drugs kept her emotions locked down. She couldn't seem to access them, although she knew they were still there, and what they ought to be.

"They'll build in some skills for you, any kind of job you want. There's an art gallery near the harbor where your father's boat has its slip. You could work in there, looking at beautiful pictures of lighthouses and driftwood sculptures all day, wouldn't that be grand?"

Carla's mind, slowed by the drugs, completed the next thought that had started with, 'Never see Firuun again?' In rising fear and horror, she thought, 'and if I do see him again, I won't know who he is?'

She made a little mewing sound out loud, but in her mind, she screamed. 'Firuun! Khunnier! Renbor! Nelonn! Anybody! Save me! Ship's soul, living Whitestar 97, grotto light, hear me and come to me! Firuun! Firuun! Valen! Help me!"

\

Nelonn staggered and nearly dropped the shell he was loading. He got it into the hopper and then put both hands to his head. The pressure was like a storm front, and he would swear he heard someone call his name.

It was unlikely that Whitestar 97 would launch fighters. The ship they were going after was an unarmed civilian transport. But one never knew. So if they did, he would have them ready.

He inhaled and exhaled sharply to dismiss the pain, as he had seen the captain do. If she could succeed in a sniper mission from a wheelchair, he could deal with a stupid headache. He picked up the next shell.

\

The Minbari merchant ship was sleek and graceful, resembling the irresistible treasure in its hold: fish out of Minbar's ocean. The merchant captain, Inesdor, had never before been offered such an item for export, and probably never would be again. And all Dovec had wanted in exchange was passage for himself and three clanmates. It was a bargain Inesdor had jumped at.

But now he was having second thoughts. "What do you mean, follow the Whitestar? Our bargain was for passage to Babylon 5."

"To where Anla'shok Carla Punch is. Which is not now on Babylon 5. She is on a transport bound for Earth, and her ship is following her. Therefore we must also."

"Even frozen cargo must reach its destination on time, Dovec."

"I know that, Inesdor," Dovec replied with a sigh, shocking the merchanters by speaking to them in the worker caste dialect. Normally, members of the warrior and religious castes would not deign to speak that tongue, conducting their business with the workers in their own highborn languages. "My clansmen and I caught that cargo on my own ship, a ship of sails as per the tradition of the dalshon. Alright, put in at the station. We will have to wait for the Anla'shok captain's return."

\

Carla shivered in the flowered dress. It left her calves bare, and the red surgical scars stood out angrily on her spacer-pale shins.

"Oh, sweetie, are you cold? Here, let Lindy and me get you under the covers. There now! All tucked in, my little girl!" Daniella kissed Carla's forehead, and Carla just wanted to crisp up like a fallen leaf and disappear.

Daniella said, "There, all better! Mommy kiss it make it all better, oh yes mommy make it all better baby, all back to the happy times, no more bad memories, no more nightmares, no more horrible aliens. All better."

Carla struggled to form words against the effects of the tranquilizer. "I'm not the one who's insane."

"Oh baby, it's going to be wonderful! The doctor's going to take you back to your happiest time, just before you joined the Marines. A hopeful time."

Carla slurred, "And how is the teenage me going to cope with waking up in this body?"

"Oh, don't worry, dear, you're going to have plastic surgery, too. You won't have any scars when you open your eyes on a new world of possibility. You're going to start over fresh."

"In Valen's name, you sound like Patty."

"Now, honey, there's no need to be cruel to your poor mother. I've spent all the money I saved for my cruise on this clinic. While you and your father have fun making half hitches or whatever it is you do when you sail, I was going to be shopping in all the glamorous ports. Now, I've given that up for you. You ought to be grateful."

"She will be," said Lindy. "After the new personality takes hold."

"If you loved me at all, or even had any basic human compassion, you wouldn't do this to me. Take my whole life away from me. Everything I've worked for, everything I've achieved. How could you do this, pay people to capture me and control me with drugs, after everything I've been through? How could you even think of it?"

"Oh sweetie pie, this part will be over soon. And you won't remember it. This time around I promise not to criticize any human man you bring home, not even a n-- Negro like that Ike fellow. You always went for the tall men."

"Ike and I were just friends. The kind of friendship that comes with shared experience and struggle." She wanted to add, what you're trying to take away from me. But she was too tired. The drugs sapped her strength, and she did not have the energy to keep her jaw from relaxing.

\

"Attention Earth transport American 4375. This is Whitestar 97. Heave to and prepare to be boarded."

The response was immediate. The civilian ship stopped in the red flicker of hyperspace, and its pilot responded, "We can't. This ship lands on planets and inside atmosphere controlled space stations. We don't have the capability to mate locks with another ship."

"Stand by," Firuun ordered. He motioned for the comm officer to cut the outgoing comm. "If only this were a war cruiser. We could use a breaching pod. Why don't Whitestars have breaching pods? Of all the things they cut out to increase the weapons and engines relative to mass, surely there was room for a breaching pod."

Khunnier, at the tactical station, reminded him, "Whitestars were designed to be crewed by the religious caste. Can you picture them attempting a boarding action?"

Firuun would have laughed if he was not so worried. "Open comm. Earth transport, can you launch a single life pod at a time?"

"Yes, we can."

"Then load our captain aboard. Along with all her effects, especially her wheelchair. And launch the life pod. We will send a fighter to recover it."

"Your captain?"

"Anla'shok Captain Carla Punch."

"One moment please, while we check the passenger manifest." There was a pause. "We are showing a passenger by that name, but she is listed as a mentally incompetent person being transported by her family and medical personnel under an order of commitment to an adjustment center."

"A politically motivated, um, I believe your human expression is load of hogwash. Captain Punch has been kidnapped by racists who object to her joining the Rangers and consorting with Minbari."

That was according to Ambassador Vir Cotto, who would not repeat what Daniella Punch had said about Narns, only saying it was something even Centauri wouldn't say, not even to each other in private.

"Babylon 5 security said it was a legal order."

"The Earth government has made a lot of legal orders that were morally wrong, or hadn't you heard of somebody named Clark?"

"Whitestar, we are an Earth ship bound by Earth law. And Carla Punch is human."

"She is my—my—my Captain," Firuun concluded at last. "Let me explain something." He was not about to try to explain that Carla was his soul mate. But there was something else he could explain, and any human who had any sort of awareness of history would understand it.

Firuun slowed down, but did not try to keep the anger out of his thunderous voice. He wanted them to know he was mad. Both angry and irrational.

"I am first officer on this ship, the only Whitestar crewed by the military caste. As I am not on a war cruiser, there is no general to whom we report. My chain of command ends at my captain. My captain reports only to Entilza Delenn. Who is religious caste, and thus not in my own chain of command, by Minbari custom. The Whitestar Fleet belongs to the Alliance, and thus to my dear friend John Sheridan. But it is commanded through the Rangers, and through the Entilza, and so he is not in my chain of command either. Both he and Delenn can issue commands to this ship without the Captain's presence, but only in the way that a clan chief's employer can issue commands to the clan's household; they are accepted on behalf of the clan chief, but have no legal weight unless and until the clan chief eventually returns and rubberstamps them. Speaking of which. I am the clan chief of the Windsword Clan, and so I have no clan chief over me either. The one and only person who can currently be considered my war leader is Carla Punch. Don't make me remind you how we Minbari feel about our war leaders."

The implied threat hung in the air for a second. Then the pilot of the transport said, "We will send her out. But expect a protest from my company over this action. And the pod is company property, I expect you to return it."

"We will return your life pod in as good a condition as you return our captain in. Whitestar out."

\

Khunnier nodded to Nelonn as he got into his fighter in the fighter bay. He took the craft out slowly and carefully, mindful of the hyperspace drift and how it could impart spin to an underpowered life pod. He grappled the pod successfully and towed it into the ship.

He was out of the fighter by the time the bay repressurized, and Nelonn and Renbor met him at the pod. Firuun, of course, was still on the bridge.

When they opened the pod, they got a surprise. There were two people in it.

Daniella Punch jumped out carrying a suitcase. "You horrible Minbaries. Stay away from my daughter."

Renbor rushed into the pod, and Daniella tried to stop him.

Khunnier pulled her away. "You aren't supposed to be here." It was perhaps the dumbest thing he had said in a decade, and he knew it as soon as he had said it.

"How could I just stand by and let you take my little girl?"

Carla floated out of the pod, still in the flowered dress. Renbor had the controls to her chair. Carla slurred, "Nelonn, find my mother a place to be and see to her needs. Call other crew to help if you need to send someone out for something. Don't leave her alone. She's liable to try to pound a nail into the wall and hang pictures or something. Don't let her hurt my ship."

"Yes, Captain! Thank you for this honor."

That was the traditional way to acknowledge an order for a combat mission, and Carla smiled lopsidedly at how well Nelonn had decoded her instructions to him.

"This way, ma'am," Nelonn said in English. "May I take your luggage?"

"Well. Hmf. At least this young one is polite. But I'm going wherever my daughter is going."

"No, mother, you are not. Because I'm going to the bridge. And sensitive and secured areas are off limits to you."

"Well I never!"

"This way, ma'am," said Nelonn. "Please follow me."

"Carry her if you have to," Carla said.

"I'm going, I'm going! Poor Carla dear, you don't know what you're doing. I'll get through to you somehow."

Daniella left with Nelonn, casting pouting looks over her shoulder.

"Renbor, have you got that analysis yet?"

"Yes, Captain. I can counteract the sedative, but the only stimulant I have that is safe to use on humans in amsha. It will stay in your system long after the sedatives wear off, and it will have to be balanced with datansho to avoid giving you myoclonic jerking. It's up to you, but it may not be worth it."

"I can handle amsha and datansho," Carla said. "It's not like I've never had them before. This stuff they gave me is interfering with more than my enunciation. It's flattening my emotions, and I can't trust my judgment if I can't feel. Without emotion, I can't have compassion, and then I'm nothing but a highly efficient killing machine. If in less than optimal condition at the moment."

"Such philosophies are beyond me," said Renbor. "I am merely a healer. But if you wish it, I will give you the counteragents. After we have been to sickbay, it will only be a few minutes before your mind will be clear enough to assume command."

Assuming command had actually not been Carla's priority. She just wanted to be where Firuun was. Preferably naked, but not on the bridge.

Khunnier said, "I will return the life pod."

"Yes, see to it," Carla said. "And good job. All of you."

End of Chapter 15. Story continues in Chapter 16.


	16. Chapter 16

Punch 16

Firuun got up from the captain's chair when Carla flew onto the bridge. Carla worked the controls to her antigravity chair with one hand and it rose to eye level. With her other hand she grabbed one of Firuun's head spikes and pulled. He was as responsive as a docile saddle horse, letting her guide his face to hers.

She kissed him, and didn't care if the whole bridge watch saw them.

Firuun's breathing quickened. He whispered, "Would the Captain care to inspect the ship's appendix?"

"Not now," Carla said in a normal voice. There was no answering rush of desire within her. "It's the drugs they gave me. They've cut off my emotions. Which might be a good thing right now, since otherwise what my mother tried to do would probably put me in homicidal rage. Renbor was able to counteract the sedative effects with a stimulant, but I'm still damped down emotionally, and will be until they wear off."

"How long will that be?" Firuun asked, no longer whispering.

"Probably only a few days, maximum. Maybe only hours. Human drugs aren't designed to last as long as Minbari drugs. At which point the stimulants Renbor gave me will probably keep me awake for days until they wear off too. But I can live with that."

Whispering again, Firuun leaned close and said, "I'm sure we can find something to fill up the time."

"Mm-hmm. Right now I should check on my mother. She insisted on tagging along."

"She's here? On the ship?"

"Unfortunately. We'll let her off on the station. I'm not going to miss my appointment for my new eyes."

Firuun turned to the navigator. "Set course for Babylon 5."

\

"I want to see my daughter," Daniella Punch insisted.

"I'm sure she'll come visit you soon, ma'am," Nelonn said. He opened a door and waved a hand over the activation plate to turn on the light. "Will this do? I know it's not very big, but we don't actually have any private cabins onboard."

"This is a pantry."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, but I couldn't think of any other room that doesn't have dangerous things in it."

"I'll have you know I have been on many ships before, stellar and oceanic, and I am not about to walk out an airlock by accident, young man. Or young, um, alien."

"Ma'am? Can you not even say Minbari? Do you really hate us that much?"

Daniella sighed. "Do you know what your kind did to my Carla?"

"I know. Not all the specifics, there are some parts they say I'm too young to know about. But I understand more than you think."

Daniella looked into his eyes and fell in. She heard his voice say 'I know that fear. The fear of being controlled.' And the feeling ballooned out from him.

Daniella's eyes widened, and she leaned against the wall. "Oh," she said in a small, choked voice. "Oh, my poor little girl. And you—what happened to you?"

"Did I say that out loud?" Nelonn asked, his voice breaking into a higher register.

"No. No, I suppose I read it in your eyes. Felt it, somehow. The fear. For just an instant." She turned away, and said in a rapid, artificially chipper tone, "Well, I must say at least you people are good housekeepers. This ship seems to positively glow."

"The Whitestar class vessel is self maintaining," Nelonn said proudly. "It's the most magnificent ship ever. And very advanced."

"Do you suppose you might give me a tour?" Daniella asked, wiping at the corners of her eyes.

"Sure, ma'am." Nelonn relaxed a little. It seemed the terrifying crone was not as bad as she had seemed at first. He stowed her luggage and led her next door to the ship's galley, as the first stop on the tour.

\

When Carla left the bridge, she intended to go see how Nelonn was handling the mother problem, but she could not face the inevitable confrontation just yet. Instead, she headed for the shower.

She had to sit on a stool, since she could not yet stand up in the shower, and she did not want to ask Firuun to help her stand up while she had no intention of doing anything but get clean.

She reminded herself that her sex drive would come back along with all her other emotions, as soon as she started crashing from what Lindy had given her. It was awkward drying off and getting into a fresh uniform and then back into her countergrav chair, but she managed it, using her denn'bok as a crutch. Station security had recovered it from the burly man, and Firuun had set it out for her on top of her folded, clean spare uniform next to the shower in anticipation of her return.

Back in her chair, she closed down the Pike and attached it to her belt. She noticed her belt now had another attachment, for the controls of her chair. Firuun was so thoughtful.

Love flooded her. She gasped at the outpouring, like a river of light going through her mind, washing away all the detritus. And turning over a few stones, and wrecking a couple of beaver dams along the way. Carla laughed out loud.

"Oh. There go my emotions."

Carla did not want to go see her mother now, either. Now that her emotions were coming back, she wanted to hang on to the good feelings a little longer, before the dreaded argument had to happen. So instead she went to the fighter bay, where Khunnier was coming back in from reseating the passenger ship's lifepod.

"Khunnier!" she grinned. If she could have, she would have done a happy dance.

"What do we do now?" Khunnier asked.

The whole galaxy seemed sparkly. "Go to Babylon 5 and get my new eyes, of course," Carla said. "I'll have to have an escort on the station, to keep off anybody trying carry me off again, but that's no big deal. It's not like we can't spare the men while we're in port."

"Do you think you'll be able to convince her to call off the order?"

Carla's mood changed like a rock falling. "Don't bet on it. Maybe she'll be able to see that you guys are just people, now that she's here and she can see you, instead of just sitting around on Earth thinking about the Menace From Space. But I wouldn't count on any sudden transformations. Do you know what we call the phenomenon of soldiers having to think the enemy aren't people in order to kill them? We call it dehumanizing the enemy. Speaks volumes, doesn't it?"

Khunnier nodded seriously. "What about a legal challenge? With lawyers, I mean."

"Gah. Lawyers. Can't live with 'em, can't roast 'em and eat 'em with paprika."

"Would it be possible? I know little of human law."

"Not without me actually going to Earth to challenge it, and producing my own psychiatric expert to pronounce me sane. And if the court found against me, I'd be taken to an adjustment center immediately. As a prisoner. Not by that name, but that's what it would mean. Involuntary commitment. Another word for imprisonment with no date of release, and no appeal, and no right to refuse whatever they want to do to you. That's how it works. I can't take the risk. I might not be able to pass the test to be considered sane by human standards."

Khunnier shook his head. "You have worked so hard to overcome it all. And look what you've achieved." He waved a hand around to indicate the ship, and her Anla'shok uniform. "I don't understand humans."

"Sure you do," she said. "You just don't understand the injustice of some of our laws, and the politics behind what pretends to be a science. And neither do I. You understand us just as well as we do ourselves. So what else could we do?"

"If I understand what has happened correctly, the judge and the doctor who signed off on the order were both influenced by your mother's claims to know you well and to know that you are acting irrationally. Perhaps if your father appealed on your behalf…"

"He wouldn't. He wouldn't help me stay out here with you guys, even though I doubt he actually believes I'm crazy. The last time I spoke to him, just before I left home after I was released from the adjustment center after the war, he called me a traitor. A traitor to my uniform, to Earth Force Marine Corps, and to humankind. We haven't spoken in fifteen years."

"That is a tragedy," Khunnier said. "But fifteen years is a long time. He might have grown. Mellowed. Learned not to hate the Minbari, as you have. Would it not be a greater tragedy if he has changed his mind, and you never find out?"

"Yeah. You're right, Khunnier. I'll give him a chance. Let's go to the viewing room. See if you can find a comm code for him and patch me through."

After much searching and a few false starts, the ship's communications officer finally acquired a stellarcom signal to a local library, which routed them via landline to a crab shack near the dock, which patched them through to marine radio to Mr. Punch's boat, the Semper Fido. There was no picture, only sound.

The waitress at the crab shack relayed to Mr. Punch. "Hey Punch, we got a call for you. She says she's your daughter."

"Where's the signal coming from?"

"Space, so it must be expensive."

"I mean a ship, a planet, what? What kind of carrier wave is it?"

"I don't know, butterbean! Why don't you ask her?"

"I don't want to talk to the little shit. Look, you've got picture, right?"

"Yes, I do, and if you would go for those new fangled things as you call them, you'd have it too."

"Who the hell needs picture in their boat? Look at the upper bar of the picture and look at the carrier signal icon. What are the numbers by it?"

The woman read off the numbers, which meant nothing to Carla. But during her father's service, he had once held the job of sensor technician.

"That's a Minbari carrier signal. See you for Tuesday Night at the Races."

"Aren't you going to talk to her?"

"No."

The comm signal cut off.

Carla growled. She looked around for something to throw, and the only things she had were the controls to her chair, which she wisely refrained from breaking, and her Pike. She tossed the denn'bok across the viewing room. Then she floated over and retrieved it awkwardly from the floor.

"At least you tried," Khunnier said.

Carla extended her Minbari Fighting Pike and hit the wall with it a few times. The wall glowed faintly, and Carla was reminded that the ship was alive. It healed itself of a scratch she had made in it.

"It's not fair!" Carla exclaimed. "And don't tell me life isn't fair. I know that."

"We'll think of something else."

"Like what?" Carla shrieked. She took a swing at Khunnier.

He jumped back out of the way of the Pike. "The drugs are still affecting you."

"I can see that! I know what they do! I've had to come down off of them before. They've done this to people for two hundred years now! A MindFreedom guy visited the support group once, told us psych drugs are made to make you seem crazy if you go off of them, so you'll think you need them and start taking them again. Addiction for profit."

"Then human psychiatric drugs are evil. If it is done on purpose."

"No more evil than the Minbari psychiatric drugs I've had. And knowing the cause doesn't help!" Carla growled and swung at him again, and Khunnier backpedaled. "I have a right to be angry, dammit! It's not all the drugs! Part of this is me under here!"

Khunnier fled, and Carla zipped after him, waving her denn'bok.

\

"And what's through there?" Daniella asked, pointing to a room beside the lock.

"That's the boarding party ready room, where they keep the armored space suits."

"Could I see that?"

"Um, I guess. Sure." Nelonn opened the door, and they went in. There was nothing much to see but lockers, and a bench down the middle of the room. "I don't have a suit yet. They call this armor," he touched the front of his uniform, "but it's not much good against modern beam weapons. Space armor is reflective."

Daniella wandered to the far wall, where various gauges and tools were built into the wall. "Suit maintenance?"

"Yes."

"And is this the—oh." Daniella opened the other door, and found herself looking not at a maintenance pod but racks of energy weapons.

"Um, I don't think you're supposed to be in there, ma'am."

"They don't look like I'd expected," Daniella said, walking deeper into the weapons locker. "I've seen pictures. It's all so very deadly looking."

Nelonn followed her in. "They are deadly, and we'd better leave. Captain said you weren't to have access to sensitive areas of the ship."

The sound of rapid footfalls came from outside in the corridor, through the open door of the weapons locker and the open door of the boarding party ready room.

Nelonn fidgeted nervously. "Please, ma'am, come away."

Khunnier skidded to a halt in the door out to the corridor long enough to announce, "Captain's in a towering snit. Run for your life." Then he took off down the corridor.

"We'd better go," Nelonn said, holding out an arm toward the door back to the armoring up area.

Daniella turned and was on her way out when a blue glow announced Carla's chair as she came to investigate the open door.

Carla's eyes blazed when she saw them. "You let her into the ship's armory? What kind of an idiot are you?"

Eyes downcast, Nelonn herded Daniella out of the armory, and closed the door. He was just walking behind Daniella on their way through the boarding party ready room, when Carla zipped down the empty space on the other side of the bench and started hurrying them out by smacking Nelonn in the backs of the legs with the her denn'bok.

This had the opposite effect from the one intended, as Daniella turned when she heard the sound, to see Carla striking the young Minbari. She stopped walking, and stared.

"Huh? Huh? What kind of idiot are you?" Carla repeated, her chair rising until she was at eye level with Nelonn. She worked the chair controls with her right hand, and swung the denn'bok with her weak left, her blows rising with the height of her chair. "Huh? Huh?"

"I'm a stupid bonehead kid," Nelonn whimpered.

Daniella said, "Stop. Carla Nevinia Punch! You stop that right this instant!"

With an incoherent roar, Carla rounded on Daniella, raising her denn'bok threateningly. "You don't control me! Nobody controls me! I give the orders here!" Then she shook her head, unable to strike her desired target despite the drug-crash rage. Daniella Punch was still her mother.

Carla turned back to Nelonn and beat him savagely, raising the denn'bok high and crashing it down on him again and again.

Carla had only experienced this berserk fury once before, and she had killed several Minbari with a denn'bok then, during the Battle of Tifar. But since then Carla's strength had fled, and she was using the arm that had only recently had the medical immobilizer taken off, and sitting in the chair was not a very strong position, and on top of all that she was on datansho, a paralytic agent. Despite how vicious the beating had to look to Daniella, Carla was not actually hitting Nelonn very hard.

Nelonn turned to take the blows on his shoulder blade, leaning against one of the suit lockers, turning his face toward the locker so Carla only saw the thick armor plates of his head bone on the back of his head, and not the expression on his face.

But Daniella saw Nelonn's expression. His eyes were squeezed shut, more in fear than in pain.

Daniella stared, horrified.

Nelonn put a hand on his own denn'bok, considering trying to defend himself. But he did not pull it.

Daniella leaned over the bench and grabbed Carla's arm. "Carla! Carla! Stop this!"

Carla tried to pry Daniella's hand off of her arm.

Daniella said, "I came here to save you from the Minbaries. Not to save them from you. But this is just wrong! It's abusive. Stop hitting the poor boy!"

Daniella's tone finally got through to Carla. "You see him as person?" Carla said shakily. "Not a 'horrible Minbari'?"

"Yes, yes! I see. I had no idea what was going on, on this ship."

"Just what you saw on the news," Carla said sharply. "You could have come here and talked to me instead of trying to kidnap me before you had all the facts."

Daniella did not respond to the accusation, instead looking over at Nelonn. He was leaning heavily against the suit locker, almost looking as if he were lying on the floor. "Get out of here, young fellow."

Nelonn slunk away without a word, and without looking at either woman.

"Carla…"

"Don't start. I know that was wrong. But you're the one who drugged me. It's not my damn fault I'm crashing this way. I could have told you what would happen when I came down. But you never listened."

"You're right. But the drugs didn't train that boy to call himself names on cue. I thought the Minbaries had some kind of hypnotic power over you, using you as a front for their own ends. But this is all your power trip, isn't it? You beat them, and they just take it."

"If any of them want to leave, they know where the airlock is."

"We're in hyperspace," Daniella protested.

Carla rolled her eyes and whined, "Mom! Once we're locked onto the station, I meant. In Valen's name!"

Two sets of rapid footfalls echoed from the corridor. Nelonn was back, with Renbor. The ship's doctor had a gleaming hypodermic in his hand.

Nervously, Renbor asked, "Captain? Are you calm?"

Carla said, "Nelonn, in Valen's name I'm sorry."

Nelonn said, "The healer says the humans gave you drugs. I've been where you are, Captain. Full of drugs you didn't want to take. I attacked a station security guard. There is nothing to forgive."

Carla sighed. "I'm glad you didn't lose your compassion, Nelonn. Are you alright?"

"Nothing broken," Nelonn said. But there was more than a little caution in the way he held himself.

"Good. Then go get some rest. Where did you find quarters for my mother?"

"Galley storeroom."

"Thank you, Nelonn. That will be all."

Nelonn slouched off.

Carla said wearily, "Mom, let's get you back there. Stay put, huh? I don't want to talk again until I'm done coming down off the damn drugs."

Daniella walked beside her silently, thinking hard. Nothing was as it had appeared to be.

End of Chapter 16. Story continues in Chapter 17.


	17. Chapter 17

Punch 17

Firuun found Carla sulking in an out of the way curve of a ship's corridor. "There you are. I heard from Khunnier about the call to your father. I don't understand humans at all. For Minbari, clan is clan no matter what."

"Oh. Right. I hadn't even been thinking about that anymore. Now I'm upset about something else."

"What is it?" Firuun drew close and sat down against the wall near her, bringing his imposing height down to her level.

"Firuun, sometimes it's hard to keep it all together. To keep going, when it's always one thing after another. I live in violence like a fish lives in water. But I've always managed to keep it in its channel, before now. Kill the enemy. Get in bar fights. Non lethal ones. Fight in the denn'bok tournaments. Take out threats against my ship and my crew. With or without the approval of the local law."

Firuun nodded. This was close to a confession to Shona's murder, but Firuun had already figured out that Carla did it as soon as he heard about it, and that was why he had lied to Zack Allen about her whereabouts.

"It's the damn human psych drugs. They're supposed to make you act crazy and violent when you're in withdrawal, it's a marketing scheme. If you don't conclude you need them, society will; the courts will make you start taking them again to prevent further violence by the mentally unfit. That's what the MindFreedom guy said, anyway. And I'm more likely to believe a human rights worker than an advertising campaign from a megacorp."

"What did you do?"

"I beat up Nelonn."

"What?" Firuun stood up. "Is he alright?"

"Physically. But mentally? Firuun, he didn't even try to defend himself. He just stood there. If he'd had a tail he would have had his tail tucked between his legs. Earth animals do that," she added, seeing Firuun's look of incomprehension. "I'm honestly not trying to turn him into me, Firuun."

"Carla…"

If she had been talking to Khunnier, he would have tried to interpret Nelonn's behavior. But Firuun preferred fixing things to understanding people.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "This is one problem we really can't solve with a bar fight."

This pulled a reluctant half-smile out of Carla. "I'd say not."

"Let's go talk to him. Find out if he's alright."

"Not yet. I'm still coming down off the drugs. Renbor tried to counteract them, but all he only managed to get rid of the sedative effect. I'm afraid I'll do something again."

"Hmmm… well, then you want to isolate yourself from the vulnerable, and that's why you're hanging out back here. But there is a much more private spot. And I can think of someone who wouldn't mind if you got a little crazy."

"You're still turned on? When I'm like this?"

"Reciprocity. I know you're not in the mood, but I was afraid I'd never see you again. I thought you were going to be spirited off to Earth and that would be the end. Come with me now, and I promise the next time you're in the mood and I'm not I'll pay you back."

"When are you ever not in the mood?" Carla chuckled.

She lifted her arms the way a baby puts out her arms to be picked up. It was a universal gesture, recognized across all mammalian species.

Firuun grinned, picked her up and carried her to the ship's appendix.

\

Sometime late the following morning, Firuun rolled onto his side and stretched like he had just competed in an Ironman competition. "Aren't you ever going to get tired and fall asleep?"

"No. Not for about four or five days."

"What?"

"Firuun, I'm on amsha."

"Oh. Well, I'm not."

"Remember what you said about reciprocity?"

Firuun groaned sleepily. "We're probably about to put into port. Don't you want to say goodbye to our passenger? And then a sleeping platform sounds really nice."

Carla sighed. "You would have to mention her, wouldn't you? Alright, in a minute." Then Carla grabbed his head spikes and pulled. "Once more into the breach, dear friends…"

When the two of them emerged from the crawlway, he was the one who looked strung out.

Carla drifted through her good-byes to her mother, her mind on Nelonn. She could not remember what trite pleasantries she had come up with before Daniella Punch exited onto Babylon 5. She thought her mother was a problem already solved, mentally check-marked complete. As soon as Daniella left the ship, Carla sought out Nelonn.

Unsurprisingly, he was at his duty station in the fighter bay. He had a bunch of spare parts arrayed on a counter, and was sorting them into some better order than the one he had come up with last week.

"Nelonn?"

He jumped a little at the sound of her voice.

Carla could not tell if he were afraid of her or just startled out of absorption in his thoughts. "Um. Are you OK?"

"Was I the first Minbari your mother ever met?"

"Yes, I think so," Carla replied. "You seemed to make quite a good impression, too." The pause went on a little too long. "Um."

"Don't worry about it, Captain. I've gotten more banged up than this in the tournaments. And the denn'bok doesn't sting like Sech Turval's reed cane."

"What?" This was the second hard left turn this conversation had taken, and Carla felt like her mind was not quite keeping up with the pace. "When did you ever meet Sech Turval?"

"I haven't. But Khunnier has, and he tried to teach me to meditate to get rid of the headaches. He told me about the Anla'shok meditation teacher."

"If you've only heard about it, how do you know what it feels like?" Carla asked, a bit bemused.

Nelonn shrugged. "I don't know. I just know things sometimes. Like snow."

"I don't understand."

"I've never seen snow in real life, and I always wanted to. A few nights ago I dreamed I was walking in snow. It was beautiful, in a way I had never imagined. Each little grain of powder sparkling in the sunlight. But it didn't make me happy. I was afraid, and I don't know why."

"Huh. That's weird. Anyway, if you're sure you're alright, I'm assembling an escort to accompany me to the station to have my new eyes fitted. It's not just for show, even if my mom has decided I don't need rescuing from the 'horrible Minbaries', the adjustment center still has a legal order of commitment and they'll still be after me. An order of commitment is money in the bank for them, since my veterans' benefits will pay as long as they want to hold me."

"How awful!"

"So I can't go anywhere off the ship alone, and it's possible they might even get station security on their side. There might be combat. Care to join the party?"

"I—I'm honored. I'd jump at any chance for combat. But the station…"

"The escort will be a team of a dozen," Carla put in quickly, aware of how much Nelonn hated the station. Both Renbor and Khunnier were of the opinion that Nelonn's headaches were psychosomatic, caused by being around crowds of unfamiliar people, and the fear and traumatic memory of Shona Marsu. "Ranger tradition says the way to overcome fear is to confront it. It's always worked for me."

"Thank you for this honor, Captain."

End of Chapter 17. Story continues in Chapter 18.


	18. Chapter 18

Punch 18

Carla's escort, consisting of Firuun, Khunnier, Nelonn, Renbor, Milenn, and both shifts of the bridge watch—who rarely got a chance at ground combat, since they were usually at their stations during a landing or boarding action—did not have to fend off any attacks by the burly man or his cohorts. They did keep a persistent cameraman out of Carla's way.

An unexpected welcoming committee was waiting for Carla when she left the ship. Three—of course it was three—Minbari were waiting for her. "Ah. Captain Punch. Right on schedule," said the elderly Minbari. He spoke in a Coastline accent exactly like Carla's.

The other two were younger, and walked a pace behind him. All three wore civilian clothes cut differently from the average run of Minbari fashion, without long over-robes. Their shirts were embroidered, but they wore coarse, mid-length pants that looked as if they might be planning to wade somewhere.

Carla eyed the paparazzo being kept back by her escort and said, "ISN broadcast my schedule?"

The old Minbari nodded, and smiled kindly. "Allow me to introduce myself and my kinsmen. I am Dovec, clan chief of Clan Itma."

Carla suppressed a flinch. Behind her, Nelonn flinched. Khunnier looked between the two of them, rapid surmise in his eyes. But whatever he concluded, he kept it to himself.

Dovec continued, "This my grandson Velec, and my grandniece Ilienn. We have an offer for you. Ilienn, here, thinks it's inconsiderate to even approach you, but the Song has been sung and the offer must be made." Ilienn lowered her eyes, showing submission to her clan chief's decision.

"What offer?" Carla asked warily.

"In dalshon tradition, we act as psychopomps for the dead and dying. The Song is important to us, and when a dalshon dies, and there is no other dalshon to sing the way for him, we believe his soul is lost to the clan and can never return. So we have a very old custom. A dalshon can make another a dalshon, by teaching him the Song; if that person then sings the Song for the dying dalshon who taught it to him, that person has the right to be adopted by the dalshon clan from which the dying one came."

Carla's eyebrows rose. This, she had never heard before.

"Velec, here, is an afficianado of Earth news. He saw a story about you, and an interview with one of your crewmen about your career in the Anla'shok. Among the brief highlights given, was that you sang the Song of the Dalshon for our rather unlamented cousin, Comac. He was never very popular even among other dalshon, but he was still one of us and we are relieved and honored by your actions. We come to offer you adoption, as is your right."

"Do you mean that if I accept your offer, I would be legally a Minbari?"

"Yes," Dovec said. "Would that be a problem for you?"

"No. No, it might actually solve one." Carla glanced up at Firuun, who did not offer any advice.

"There is one more thing," Dovec said. "From the time of the beginning, to be a dalshon has meant partaking of the functions of all three castes. We sing the Song of the Dalshon and conduct the souls of the dying. That is a religious function. We build boats, both the dalshon boat that we sell to those going to the sea, and the dalshon ship that we sail ourselves. In the old days, the dalshon ship was a pirate ship, and for that reason the clans of the dalshon, including Itma, are considered warrior clans. For hundreds of years now, we mostly sail fishing trawlers. But each clan has a real dalshon ship, for dalshon holidays. If you wish to become Clan Itma, you must sail with us. Within a year from the date of your adoption, which would be retroactive to the day you sang the Song for Comac, you must sail with Clan Itma on our pirate ship. Since no one sails the waters of Minbar now but the dalshon, there is no one to pirate against but other dalshon. So on holidays we take turns pirating each other. It is half ritual and half competition, and great fun. If you like sailing, that is. Most Minbari stick on that point."

"Sailing?" Carla asked, a smile spreading across her face. "I love sailing! I would be delighted to sail with you, Dovec of Clan Itma. When I recover the use of my legs, of course."

"Of course," Dovec said, his smile wrinkling all the way to his head bone. "Welcome to Clan Itma, Captain Punch of the Anla'shok." Dovec stepped forward and heart-touched Carla, and she returned the gesture.

Carla laughed in relief and happiness. "Thank you in Valen's name. And thanks to Valen too." Carla turned her chair around and addressed her escort. "The adjustment center thugs won't be able to take me now. Human law no longer applies to me."

"That's wonderful, Carla," Firuun boomed. "Everything's working out after all!"

Khunnier said, "Now you two will have to start formal rituals, you know."

"Hmm?" Firuun asked.

"Well, since now Carla is officially Minbari. You'll have to apply to Dovec here to court her."

Carla blushed. "There are no secrets aboard a Whitestar, I guess."

"Ah?" Dovec asked, turning to Firuun.

Firuun made a throat-clearing sound and stepped forward. "Dovec of Clan Itma, how would you feel about a clan alliance with Imbalo? I am the Windsword clan chief."

"Are you now. That is a most exciting opportunity."

The two clan chiefs bowed to each other. In this context, it was the equivalent of a handshake deal, the details of which were to be worked out later.

"Come with us, you three," Carla invited. "We're on our way to get my new eyes. No more piratical looking eyepatch after today, I'm afraid."

The whole group moved off down the corridor. The paparazzo followed them until they got onto the lift.

The first batch up the lift waited for the others, and then the whole party passed through the Zocalo.

Dovec asked, "The news program did not say much about you except for your notable career as a Ranger. I'm curious. How in the galaxy did Comac ever manage to make a human friend?"

"He didn't," Carla said. "But I made my peace with him at his death."

"Ah," Dovec said.

Khunnier said, "Carla, do you know what you are now?"

"A dalshon, I suppose."

"A Minbari not born of Minbari."

Carla snorted. "That's ridiculous, Khunnier. We know who that was."

"They say he was of all three castes."

"He was alive during my lifetime. We couldn't possibly have the same soul."

"That's a bit linear," Khunnier said.

"And anyway, that was a physical transformation. Like Entilza Delenn's. You know that."

"I don't insist on it," Khunnier shrugged. "It was a thought."

Firuun said, "I don't think I want to think about that. I have no desire to marry Valen."

Carla's joyous mood evaporated as she came to the flower stand.

'That smell,' she thought. 'Don't react, don't react, don't embarrass yourself in public.' Memories ran through her, hardwired to the smell of the wildflowers. Memories in which Comac played a large role.

Nelonn squeaked and put both hands to his head, and staggered. Then he bounded to the flower stand, plucked a group of the artificially scented cloth blooms off the stand, tossed them on the ground, and jumped up and down on them, screaming, "Pain flowers! Pain flowers!"

The flower seller jabbered and waved his arms.

"Nelonn!" Firuun thundered. "What's come over you?"

Nelonn stood amid the ruins of the delicate bouquets, looking completely nonplussed. "I don't know. Messed up again. I'm just a stupid b—"

"No!" Carla interrupted. She scooted over to Nelonn. "Don't say that. But how did you recognize them? You've never been on Tifar."

"I don't know." Nelonn looked like he was trying not to cry.

Carla's crew already knew her history, so they took the reference to Tifar in stride. But Dovec looked at her in awful realization. He had just figured out how Carla had met Comac.

The flower seller was shouting about paying for the destroyed artificial flowers. They were a brand new variety, with an exciting new fashion scent, etc. etc.

Khunnier came over to the two of them and put a reassuring hand on Nelonn's arm. "Nelonn. You're a telepath."

Nelonn's eyes widened so much that the tears he had been holding back ran down his face. "But the talent doesn't run in our family," he choked.

Carla said, "That's how you had that uncanny knowledge of Sech Turval. You picked it up from Khunnier's surface thoughts when he was teaching you meditation. And that explains your dream about the snow. That was my nightmare. Why are you tuned into me, I wonder? Wouldn't it make more sense to pick up on your clansmen's thoughts? Since you share the same blood."

"You and I have something in common in our blood, Captain," Nelonn said, staring off into the distance. "Or, at least, in our body cells. The headaches started after Shona dosed me. That's what awakened my talent. The dream state illusions."

Illien said in a small voice, "Grandfather, please ask for me. I do not understand."

"Captain Punch is kin now, Ilienn. You may speak to her directly. But I will ask, as I do not understand either."

Carla said, "It's a long story. Two long stories, but you can guess mine easily enough. Shisep."

Dovec sounded a little strangled as he asked, "You are a loribond victim?"

Carla was thoroughly tired of endlessly retelling her story. More recent traumas occupied her nightmares now. Well, obviously, sometimes she did dream of Tifar, or Nelonn would not have picked up on her dream of the snow. But she was still tired of it. "It was a long time ago, Dovec. I am at peace now."

Carla manipulated the controls of her countergrav chair and floated off toward her appointment. The Minbari accompanied her.

After much medical fiddling around, Carla finally opened her new eyes. Stereoscopic vision returned to her. The new pair had much better resolution, without the obvious lines of the older model.

"I can see!" Carla exclaimed.

The station doctor, a nut-brown woman with a nice smile, handed Carla a mirror.

"They really are amethyst colored. Just exactly like I wanted. They're beautiful! I've never been beautiful before."

"Yes, you have," Firuun boomed. "But those are very pretty. They go nicely with your hair."

Carla ran a hand over the silver brush. "I suppose so. They don't really go with my uniform and pin."

"Everything goes with an Anla'shok uniform. It's brown," Milenn said. "And you wouldn't want istilza-stone green, you'd look like Shona."

"Gah. Can't have that." Carla took a last look in the mirror before handing it back to the doctor. "They really are beautiful. I love them."

Firuun said, "Then let's get back to the ship. We have 57 rituals to plan."

Carla smiled. "Who could have guessed? Everything worked out for us like it was destiny. 'And the two old soldiers got married and lived happily ever after.'"

End of Chapter 18


	19. Chapter 19

Punch 19

There would have been a meeting room on Whitestar 97 if they had not replaced it with the ship's armory. Normal Whitestars, crewed by the religious caste, had no provision for the possibility of space combat or armed ground assaults.

So Firuun ended up having his meeting with Nelonn in the galley, over plates of whatever it was the galley produced (surely not food.) A half dozen of Nelonn's friends, all Windswords a few years older than he was, crowded in beside him. Carla hovered near the end of the table, and Khunnier stood by Firuun's shoulder with a handcomp.

"Nelonn, I've asked Khunnier to assemble a list of possible apprenticeships for you. For developing your telepathic talent." Firuun was sitting down, but still managed to seem to tower over everyone, as his voice filled the room.

"Apprenticeship? Not a school?" Nelonn asked. He did not know any telepaths, and had never given much thought to how they were trained.

"Schools, societies, and guilds were tried, centuries ago," Khunnier said. "They concentrated too much power in the hands of a few, and were disbanded. Now telepaths are trained one on one."

"What sort of master you choose will have a bearing on your future career," Firuun said. "Have you thought about what you might want to do with your telepathy?"

Nelonn replied, "Honestly, I've only thought about learning how to control it to block everything out. I've read those articles Khunnier downloaded for me. I expect my headaches to go away after I learn to shield. And if I never end up inside one of the Captain's nightmares again, it will be too soon." Nelonn glanced at Carla. Then he looked into his plate and mumbled, "I don't know how you can stand the sight of us."

"Oh no, what did you see this time?" Carla asked.

"Not much except a close up view of armor. But I felt. I am soooo glad I'm not a female."

Firuun looked over at Carla in concern, but did not say anything.

Carla shrugged one shoulder at Firuun. Then she turned to Nelonn. "Poor kid. I imagine you're probably very ready to get off this ship and start learning to control your talent."

"Yes, I am," Nelonn said. "But I will come back, right?"

"If you want to," Carla said. "But there are lots of things you can do with your talent that might lead you somewhere else. Do you think a telepath really belongs in fightercraft maintenance?"

Nelonn picked at his food. "I don't know where I belong. Most of the things that telepaths do are religious caste work. Helping people with their emotional problems, interpreting for preverbal patients in pediatrics wards, generally doing good in very peaceful ways. That's not me. The only thing I've ever been really good at is denn'bok fighting."

"Yes," Carla agreed. "You already have great skill with the denn'bok, and if you had the chance to learn from Durhan you'd be a master very quickly, I think. But telepathy would also be a great asset for intelligence work."

"I'm not smart like Khunnier."

"You don't have to be. You're a telepath."

Khunnier said, "She's right. My skill at deduction has occasionally brought people to ask me if I am a telepath. I am not, and occasionally I am wrong about what I deduce; I was wrong about you, for example, Nelonn. I did not guess you were a telepath until I saw you act out a reaction that Carla had inside her mind. Intelligence gathering sometimes is nothing more than observation and statistics, but a telepath would naturally be best suited for espionage in person, and undercover assignments."

"So," Carla said. "A talent useful for intelligence gathering, great skill with the denn'bok, proven loyalty, honor, and compassion. Your judgment, I trust, will improve with age. I know where you belong, Nelonn."

"Where?"

"In the dark places. Where no one else will go."

Nelonn gasped. "You think I could be Anla'shok?"

"After you learn to control your talent. And gain a little maturity. Yes."

Firuun said, "Hmm. What do you think, Nelonn?"

"I don't know if I could do it or not. But I'd like to try."

"That's the spirit!" Carla encouraged.

Khunnier said, "In that case, your list of possible masters will narrow a bit, but you need not necessarily choose a military intelligence specialist. There is one on the list, Brinon of Clan Doshal, but he has not primarily used his talent in espionage. Interrogations, actually; his reputation is not as unsavory as some in that profession, but he might not be the best choice. You might think about Venmer of the First Fane of Chudomo, actually; he is religious caste, and his specialty is family counseling."

Nelonn made a face.

"Think of this, Nelonn," Khunnier said. "When he is called in, it is usually because at least one person is hiding something, and so a nontelepathic counselor is unable to get at the heart of the matter. There is often a criminal in their midst, and several of his victims maintaining a family wall of silence, or even unaware of their own victimization, the memories locked away where they fester and resurface in odd ways. The kind of scanning you would do as his apprentice would serve you well in espionage work."

Nelonn nodded. "I'll think about that one. Who's on the rest of the list?"

Khunnier read off the list, with commentary.

Nelonn did not make his choice right away, thinking it over and getting advice from his friends, and placing a stellarcom call to his parents, who served on a war cruiser assigned to protecting the borders of Minbari space, as most of the old goldfish style war cruisers were these days, lacking a war to be at the front of.

Finally he went to see Firuun in engineering and announced he had decided to apprentice to Venmer. Then Nelonn went to see all his friends, and Khunnier, and finally went up to the bridge to talk to the Captain.

"We'll contact him and deliver you to him on Minbar before we return to our patrol," Carla said. "We'll stop in the capital and get you some kit. You'll need civilian clothes."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so," Nelonn said, reflexively glancing down at his uniform. "If I become Anla'shok, I might never wear war armor again. It's a funny idea."

Carla was trying to formulate a reassuring response, something about Ranger training, but for some reason she flashed on her first day in the meditation class, which had not gone well.

Nelonn said, "Sech Turval. You were thinking about him."

"Yes, I was," Carla agreed.

"Would you tell me the story? Maybe on our way to the galley?"

"Uh. Sure." Carla transferred from her Captain's chair to her countergrav chair and accompanied Nelonn off the bridge. Once they were out in the corridor, Carla said, "You knew I had an embarrassing story to tell."

"I know it involves Sech Turval and his reed cane," Nelonn said. "You thought about it once before, when… um."

"Right," Carla said. The hallway was deserted, and they ambled down it slowly, in no hurry to get to their destination. "I didn't know how much any of the instructors knew about me. Apparently nothing, it turned out. This is how I was accepted to the Anla'shok without any kind of testing or interviewing: Firuun talked to Sheridan, and Sheridan talked to Entilza Delenn, and Delenn told them she was sending them an Anla'shok candidate. But she told them absolutely nothing about me, not even my name."

Nelonn nodded to show he was listening. Humans liked that.

"So my very first day, I'm in meditation class. Sitting on the floor. And my foot falls asleep."

"Huh? How can just part of your body fall asleep?"

"Oh, that's what we call it when a nerve pinches off and we can't feel the limb from there down. Um, you know, caught between a bone and the floor? Anyway, it was uncomfortable, and I shifted a little."

"And there came Sech Turval and his reed cane, and whacked you across the back."

"I wasn't expecting it. I didn't know Minbari still used corporal punishment under some circumstances, with themselves I mean. On us, sure. On the human prisoners, I mean. And I was just completely shocked, and my mind went right back to the last time I had been struck in punishment by a Minbari. Which was 18 years ago, and by Comac. And I started to cry. I was so embarrassed!"

Carla shook her head. "It doesn't actually sound that embarrassing now. But at the time, I was trying to make a fresh start. The Anla'shok takes in a lot of humans with colorful pasts, rather like the French Foreign Legion."

Nelonn let the reference pass; he could always look it up in the computer later, if he was still curious.

"I was trying to fit in, and I didn't want the other students to know about my past. So I tried not to make a sound, but of course Sech Turval could see me crying. He said, 'Anla'shok trainee Carla, I have had many human students. I know I have not damaged you.' And I said, 'My emotions and the contents of my mind are my own problem. I'll deal with it.' And he said, 'If your mind still has contents, you are not meditating.'"

"In Valen's name!" Nelonn exclaimed. "That sounds—callous."

"No, I think he realized I didn't want to talk about it in front of the others, so he didn't ask then. He excused me from class, and I went out and walked around the training center for a while, until it was time for my next class, and got myself calmed down. He came and talked to me later, in private. That was when I realized the teachers were completely in the dark about me. And I wasn't ready to become an object of curiosity, so I didn't tell him about my past. I just said it was difficult for me to deal with the idea of being struck in that way."

They entered the mess, which was deserted at the moment, and Nelonn sat down.

Carla continued, "Probably not the best decision I ever made. Things might have gone more smoothly for me in the first few weeks of training if I'd been honest with the instructors. But then, I didn't want to always wonder if I was being coddled and whether I was really doing well or was being allowed to pass. And I just plain didn't want to talk about the war. The whole situation, being on Minbar, and everything, was disquieting. At first."

Carla got herself one of those semiliquid galley snacks she liked to pretend was yoghurt. "Here I wanted to reassure you about going away to learn things, and I come up with a story about how my first day of Ranger training reminded me so strongly of being a prisoner on Tifar that it made me cry. What a good job of reassurance, huh?"

Nelonn said, "Actually, it is kind of reassuring. It was hard at first, but you eventually did become a Ranger. And they gave you your own ship."

"Yeah," Carla agreed, looking around at the interior of the Whitestar. She tried to clamp down on the automatic self-doubt, hoping Nelonn would not hear her thinking about how she had come to be offered this ship. Of course, her attempt to keep her thoughts from straying into traumatic memories naturally brought precisely those thoughts to the front of her mind. She told herself, 'Don't think about Inoja's puppet theater. Don't think of a pink elephant.'

"What's an elephant?" Nelonn asked.

"That," Carla pointed at Nelonn, "is the reason humans herded our own telepaths into the Psy Corps, not that that turned out very well."

"Sorry, Captain. I can't help it."

"I know. How to not read minds is one of the first things you'll learn, I hope."

"I hope so too." Nelonn was staring at her in much the way that Minbari did when they found out she was a loribond victim. He had seen something in her mind that no child should ever see.

'Good luck, Nelonn,' Carla thought at him. 'This is going to be an adventure.'

"Thank you, Captain."

End of Chapter 19


	20. Chapter 20

Punch 20

"Firuuuun…" Carla's voice echoed around main engineering. Firuun looked around.

There was no longer a telltale blue glow when Carla was present. Over the quiet months on patrol, Carla had gradually worked her way out of the countergrav chair. With the ship's doctor giving her quick-heal treatments and acting as a reverse personal trainer (trying to get her to slow down and take it easy, since Carla pushed herself too hard sometimes), she had parked the chair in the sickbay storage closet right on schedule, a month after her injury.

"I'm up heeeeere."

Firuun looked up. Up the catwalk, up the ladder. There was Carla peering out of the crawlway, waving and grinning.

"You got up there by yourself!" Firuun exhulted.

Carla giggled and disappeared into the ship's appendix. Firuun swarmed up the ladder like an oversize monkey.

Carla was waiting for him in the grotto light. She was panting.

"Are you excited or exhausted from the climb?" Firuun whispered.

"Both? Undress me, like you used to. It's sexy."

"And you strained something getting up here? Naughty."

"Firuun," Carla whined.

"I know, sorry." Firuun undressed her and positioned her. "This reminds me of our first time, so it's romantic in its way. But next time, I'll carry you up here again so you won't strain your knee, and then maybe we can try something different."

They began making love, slowly.

"Maybe I'll undress you next time?"

"Come on, I know you like the armor."

"I think I'd like peeling you out of it, too."

"Don't you humans have some taboo about seeing too much before the wedding?"

"That's the bride, and you've already seen all there is to see, unless you're planning to put a camera in there," Carla said tartly. "That isn't one of those rituals we still have left, is it? How many now?"

"Only seventeen more to go," Firuun replied. They had been steadily knocking off a ritual at a rate of about two a week. "Technically we're not supposed to do this until we're actually married. But, ah…"

"Don't you even think of stopping now!"

There was no more speech for a long time.

Afterwards, they curled up in the blue-green, shifting light. Firuun asked, "Do you still want to hold the wedding aboard the Itma?"

"Yes. If we hold the wedding on a ship, and Dovec presides as Captain of the Itma, the wedding will be legal in human terms too. And I still am human, you know, despite the legal fiction of the adoption."

Firuun teased, "Really? This isn't some sort of reaction to the galley's noodles? It's—" he made a mock gasp—"hair?"

"Hey! Don't tickle!" Carla protested, poking him in the side. Firuun caught her wrist, and suddenly she was really, really turned on again.

But Firuun wanted to get back to his topic. He let go of her, and she sighed and snuggled in beside him, the moment of heat passing.

"A lot of the Minbari guests will be really uncomfortable with being on a sailing ship on the ocean."

"Let them be uncomfortable for once," Carla said. "I happen to love sailing, and this is my day. I'm going to have a holographer record the whole thing, and send a copy to my father with the words Ha Ha written on it as a label."

"Are you going to send your parents a wedding invitation?"

"I'm still thinking about it. I should, I suppose. But human tradition is for them to announce it and invite everyone. Like that's really going to happen," Carla rolled her eyes. "Anyway, since I'm sailing first, when we get married I'll already have completed my adoption into Clan Itma. Among humans, adults can't be adopted. But since the Alliance has to recognize Minbari law, at least by one set of traditions they won't be my parents anymore."

"That's sad," Firuun said. "And not really true, of course. Your parents will always be your parents."

"Among all the terrible wrongs I've forgiven, why can't I forgive them too?"

"Don't ask that when Khunnier is around, you might get an answer."

"I suppose we should get up."

"The ship can run its routine patrol with the pilot and sensor technician alone."

"True. And fortunately there seems to be a lot less paperwork in the Anla'shok and the Whitestar Fleet than there is in the human military. I'd knock on wood, if I had any in here. But I want to get in my training hour this morning. Come with me, I could use a sparring partner. If I want to get back into the tournaments, that takes more than just building my strength back up."

"Alright. That's almost as much fun."

End of Chapter 20


	21. Chapter 21

Punch 21

The airlock opened and Carla walked down the ramp. Firuun was right beside her. The rest of her crew fell in behind them.

"Why did I expect it to smell like Earth's oceans?" She wrinkled her nose for a moment. The first whiff of Minbar's sea carried the sharp tang of the tidepool ecology.

Before her stretched a blue sea to the horizon, blue sky above, and Minbar's blue-white sun, like a gas flame heating up the sky. Sea birds wheeled and cried over the docks and the hand trucks parked near the tidepools, no doubt full of Minbari sea mussels. The low wooden houses in the village were mostly painted white, with a few in pale pastel colors, the sorts of colors people choose to foil the heat of the summer sun.

But what drew Carla's eye were the ships. There were two of the small dalshon boats, one tied up at the pier and the other upended under a canopy, ships without masts, intended for the dead. Four fishing trawlers with massive winches and nets floated in the water, each with a single mast that was probably decorative, just stuck on to fulfill the requirements of tradition that ships for the living had to have sails. Several brightly painted dinghies with single sails floated at the dock or were drawn up on a strip of grassy brown beach in front of the village.

Then there was the Itma. Huge, wooden, piled with sail upon sail so high it looked like a breeze would knock it right over if they were all unfurled at once, it was anchored far back from the coast to accommodate its tremendous draft. Carla's heart leapt just to look at it.

"Well, I guess it kind of does," she amended. "It smells like salt, and fish, and whatever the local equivalent of kelp is. But it also kind of smells like… well…"

"Comac's jar," Firuun rumbled.

"Yeah. The seawater aquarium he kept his little pets in."

The villagers were already on their way up the bluff, children dancing in front, older dalshon trudging behind. A Whitestar landing on the hill overlooking the village was not something they saw every day, and of course Clan Itma was expecting her.

"What was I thinking?" Carla sighed. "Well, it doesn't smell stale, it really does smell clean like the ocean should. And I suppose once we're out on the open sea we won't smell the shore life. I'll get used to it."

Carla turned to her crew and called, "Form up! Parade ranks!" They quickly assembled into lines. Minbari did not actually have parades, but they had grasped the concept easily enough: a ritual display of ground combat forces. If there was anything that Minbari were guaranteed to understand right off, it was ritual.

The villagers reached the hill, and Dovec came forward to greet Carla as a daughter with an exchange of heart-touches. Then Ilienn and Velec presented Carla and Firuun with traditional Minbari welcoming robes.

Ilienn smiled shyly at Carla as she helped her on with the heavily embroidered kimono and said, "Welcome, Aunt Carla." The welcome robe was the precise lavender of Carla's artificial eyes, set off with panels of the deep bluegreen of a tropical sea—and the exact color of the stone in her Anla'shok badge.

Carla smiled, "Wow, it's gorgeous. And someone sure went to a lot of trouble to color match these." Carla pinned the heavy Anla'shok brooch to the outside of the robe.

"We got the specs for the amethyst color from the manufacturer of your eyes."

Firuun's welcome robe was a dark pine green, very much like the decidedly non piney looking trees ringing the cove. It was set off with pale green panels and trimmed in gold, and could easily have looked effeminate on someone else—Khunnier, say—but worn over Firuun's war armor with its shoulder pauldron flaps, it reminded Carla of nothing so much as a football jersey. She grinned to see him in it.

"Definitely number one," Carla murmured.

They got the whole clan arrayed in front of Carla's troops and Clan Itma and the crew of Whitestar 97 paraded down to the village. There Carla dismissed the company to shore leave—literally, she thought wryly—until the noon feast. With a dire warning not to touch any life form they found in the tidepools unless a dalshon told them it was safe.

Clan Itma set up a picnic on the beach, and held a fish fry. It was a fine, hot day, with a nice, stiff breeze off the ocean. The villagers all turned out in bathing costumes that could have been bought straight off the rack of an Earth department store. The men were in trunks, and the women, even the wizened crones, wore string bikinis.

"This is surreal," Carla commented to Firuun, looking around.

"But probably quite practical," Firuun said. "The traditional gear they were wearing on the station is probably winter clothing."

"It is," confirmed Velec. "Ilienn says to tell you two that we have enough for everyone. A few years ago, a rich importer brought us his whole warehouse stock when he was ready to go to the sea. He brought these from Earth thinking he would sell them to humans when the ISA moved to Minbar. But it turned out most humans either brought their own bathing suits from home, or weren't interested in seeing Minbar's ocean, so, they just sat in the stores. We've got a thousand of these."

"I don't know," Carla said.

"I do," Firuun boomed. "Black war armor is a bad idea in this heat. Crewmen! Our hosts have local clothing for everyone! Anyone who wishes to change may do so!" He made a dusting motion, a long swipe across one sleeve, the Minbari equivalent of a hand-washing gesture, communicating that he had finished a task.

He smiled. "I, on the other hand, seem to have acquired a robe. I think I'll take a pair of those trunks for underneath. How about you?"

"Oh. Yes, that's a good idea." Carla went with Ilienn to the women's pavilion.

Ilienn underwent a complete transformation as soon as she was out of sight of the men. Her head-down, eyes-lowered demeanor and small steps disappeared, to be replaced by the forthright gaze and rollicking steps of a pirate wench.

"Wow. Are you still Ilienn or am I talking to a different division?"

Ilienn chuckled. "Just kin here now. Here! I've got a whole rack of things for you to try on."

"Just kin?" Carla asked. "Not just ladies?"

"Oh," Ilienn waved a hand. "A little of both, I guess. Here, try this purple one! Come on." Her voice was louder, too.

"Well, turn around."

"I'm your niece," Ilienn said. "Go on."

"Alright." Carla turned around herself. All the scratch scars were on the front. She was not really self-conscious about her scars in the way that Firuun was about his, but she just did not want to get into the inevitable conversation that her scars would bring up. These were Comac's relatives.

She changed into the bathing suit. "It fits well enough." She put the welcoming robe, with her Anla'shok pin, back on over it, and then turned back around to Ilienn.

"You don't have to be that modest," Ilienn said. "The days when the women of the dalshon were in constant peril from other dalshon clans are long gone."

"Oh. Is that the reason for the not speaking to outsiders things?"

"It is. It's tradition. But that was a long time ago, and all the dalshon clans are kin to each other now. Hardly anyone who's not a dalshon ever meets a dalshon female, except when they are ready to die and come here to buy a boat. So dalshon have been steadily marrying other dalshon for so long that we're all cousins now."

"So, what was the idea, don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone, and you won't encourage them?"

"That's about it, yes. Of course, in those days, the women of the dalshon also used to go everywhere armed, just in case a stranger didn't take the hint. You see, other dalshon clans would visit other clans' villages to trade booty. But sometimes the sailors would get a little mixed up about trading and raiding. And if our own clan ship happened to be out on the water when another clan's ship appeared, there would be practically no one in the streets but the other clan's crewmen. It was a situation our ancestresses took care not to provoke."

"And now I just brought a Windsword clan ship to your harbor. I see. Ilienn, if any of my crew try to rape anyone, I will personally shove them out the airlock, and we won't be locked onto station when I do it."

"I never meant to impugn your crew's honor. Just a history lesson."

"I know. Traditions are all well and good, but that one is obsolete. I hate to see women being kept down to protect them from a danger that passed a thousand years ago."

Ilienn shrugged. "But it hasn't passed. I went out there into space, because Dovec wanted to bring a female along, just in case you wouldn't talk to him. But I was afraid the whole time. On a ship full of non kin, and out in space where there are still real pirates. We traveled on an unarmed merchant ship. The danger was all too real out there."

"Ilienn, I've fought real pirates. And I've been captured by real pirates. Centauri pirates. Although I was fully prepared to die to keep that from happening, even a really simply battle plan doesn't always work out as envisioned. Believe me, acting shy and modest would not save you from them. Stick with the part about going everywhere armed."

Then Carla turned and exited the pavilion, because she was afraid if she continued talking about the Centauri pirates she was going to embarrass herself by starting to cry. And this was supposed to be fun. A day at the beach.

She emerged into the hot sunlight. Firuun was already standing on the sand in the welcome robe, which no longer looked like a football jersey since it was not being worn over the shoulder pieces of Minbari war armor.

Now he reminded her of a samurai. No, a shogun. That was it. Firuun the warlord.

In that moment Carla was ready to forget the whole week's planned pageantry and just elope. Because she wanted him Right Now.

Then she heard childrens' laughter, and turned and saw a game of some kind being set up, with nets and goals. And Ilienn, at her side, was back to her shy almost-whisper, saying something that was lost in the wind off the sea.

And Dovec himself was barbecuing a large fish in a barbecue pit in the sand. And the villagers were carrying out baskets of fruit. She could wait. At least until after lunch, when she and Firuun could slip off to their ship for an afternoon 'nap'.

End of Chapter 21. Story continues in Chapter 22.


	22. Chapter 22

Punch 22

The next day was the official beginning of the annual dalshon holiday season, corresponding to summer, when the fish left the warm waters of the coast and retreated to the deep ocean for a third of the year. The end of fishing season kicked off with a three day festival of games, music, and an endless pot of chowder kept simmering on the beach.

The individual contests included foot races, dinghy races, mussel shucking, mussel eating, and denn'bok fighting. Carla had entered the last three of her own ship's tournaments, and while she did not win the contest, she at least came out of the Clan Itma denn'bok contest with honor and limbs intact, and a notch more respect from her newfound relatives.

In fact, she placed in the top third. Which led one of the grizzled old sea dogs to ask, "How did you do that, human?"

To which she replied, "Strength isn't everything. Practice, skill, and spirit count too."

"Yes, well, strength counts for a lot, or your fiancée would not be the winner now."

Carla grinned. "I liked that last move. Drop the denn'bok entirely and just pick up your opponent and hold him over your head until he asks to be let down. Works for Firuun. I'll have to try it if I ever get in a zero-G denn'bok fight."

The old fishmonger cackled and slapped his knee.

But all that was just the prelude to the real holiday, and the real contest. All the dalshon clans of Minbar were about to meet up on a neutral tropical island in the middle of the sea. There, they would have a bonfire on the beach with more individual contests, and then they would start the clan contests.

First would be a race between all the tall ships, each named for its clan, or vise versa. Carla was looking forward to watching that from the island, although she was going to miss Firuun terribly. Only dalshon were allowed to sail to the island. Her crew would have to watch the sailing race in the viewing room, or on the bridge's ceiling projection.

Then there would be more contests and finally a re-enactment of ship-to-ship battle, which Carla understood would involve actual cannon fire, although with fruit as the projectile. She would not be aboard during the race, but she would be there for the war game. After that, they would sail back to the village, and her crew and wedding guests would come aboard for the wedding ceremony.

At last it was time to board the Itma. She hugged Firuun so tight she could feel the outline of his trunks under the welcome robe. And that wasn't all. By Valen it was going to be a long week without him.

Carla got into the dinghy with Ilienn and Velec and they sailed out to the Itma. The dinghy was hoisted up to the deck and secured as the ship's boat. Then the dalshon hoisted sail, weighed anchor, and headed for Dalshon Island.

Sails snapped in the breeze. Ropes creaked, and the deck rolled with the waves. Carla was delighted to discover that she had been right: as soon as they sailed away from land, the Itma left the stink of the tidepools behind.

Aboard ship, Ilienn and the other dalshon females were free-spirited, not at all the retiring, meek little things they appeared in front of non kin. Ilienn climbed the rigging to watch the land disappear over the horizon, and laughed when she saw it go down beneath the blue.

The ship had lines running everywhere along the decks, but in this fine weather, no one was using them. The whole crew wore bikinis and swim trunks, not that Minbari ever actually swam of course, and Carla wore her lavender kimono over her bathing suit.

The crew of the Itma started singing sea chanteys. All dalshon were expected to be able to sing, and they took joy in songs of old ships and long dead crews, songs which told tales of tragedy and of wonder, of happy endings and good beginnings, heroism and mysticism and greed and pleasure and all the things that make up the life of a dalshon.

They sang away the day and on into the starry night. As they went along, they grew bolder in what songs they sang in front of Carla, first introducing raunchy songs of ship life, shore leave, and saucy wenches, and finally getting to the genuine war songs.

At one point they were all stomping in rhythm on the deck, belting out a chorus of "Don't let one remain alive," and Carla had to wonder what was wrong with her that it did not put a chill up her back.

When that song ended, the Itmas cheered and laughed. Then Ilienn called out, "Carla! Sing us a human sea chantey."

"Aw, I don't know any all the way through," Carla replied, "just bits and pieces. Would any of you understand them, anyway?"

"I speak English," said Velec in English. "I listen to human news programs all the time." A few of the other young Minbari put in their 'me toos'.

Carla said, in English, "Well, do you know your foc'sle from your aft?" Nobody laughed. She switched back to the military caste language. "That's what I thought. I studied for months to prepare to sail with you, just to learn all the ship's terms. By the end I was wondering if that could count for my third language. Anla'shok are supposed to learn at least three. But of course it's still Lenn'ah. Anyway English sea chanteys are full of terms you would never hear on ISN. Besides, the only songs I know really well are cadences. Marine marching songs."

"Well, sing one of those, then!" Ilienn encouraged. "Let's hear some human war songs!"

Carla obliged with some old Gropo cadences, most of which also contained enough slang and salty language to leave Velec and the other English-speaking Minbari pretty puzzled. But they all applauded and whooped and hollered anyway, and some of them attempted to march around, which ended up in a kind of jig.

Carla had to laugh. "You guys have more fun than any other sober people I know."

The ship's lamps cast a steady moonshine light, not bright enough to fade the stars in the black sky above.

Dovec called, "A contest! Each one of us will sing a war song, and whoever sings the most shocking one wins a lace pearl! We will all vote for the winner."

The Itmas all cheered and clapped.

"What's a lace pearl?" Carla asked.

Ilienn informed her, "The rarest of all prizes of the sea. You know how pearls form?"

"On Earth, pearls form in oysters when they get a grain of sand or some other irritant inside their shells, which they cover over in a layer of pearly stuff to smooth it out and protect themselves."

"Here, too. But here it is a kind of genetic arms race. Because the baltor mar parasitize pearl oysters."

Carla calmed herself with a meditative breath.

Ilienn continued, "The toxin they excrete has evolved to kill the pearl substance production gland, without killing the oyster. When the oyster wins, the result is a normal pearl of large size, with the dead parasite trapped in the center. When the baltor mar wins, the result is a thin eggshell of pearl in a half sphere shape, fragile and valueless. When the perfect balance is achieved, the result is a hollow pearl, a perfect sphere with random lacy holes. When we find one, we boil the parasite out and remove it, leaving a hollow lattice."

"It sounds beautiful. And a little creepy."

"All the dalshon clans together find maybe one a year. Dovec is being extremely open-handed with this prize, but that's our way: whatever we find, in the sea or on it, meaning fish and pearls or pirate booty from plundered ships, belongs to the clan with the clan chief in charge of distribution. We voted for Dovec mostly because he's nobody's fool, or least he has made himself nobody's fool in the last couple of decades, and he drives good bargains with restaurants around the world to buy our fish. But if he did not share open-handedly with the rest of us, we could vote in a new clan chief."

The Itmas, old and young, all sang war songs, some of which they had heard already tonight. One young mother holding her baby in her arms sang a song of how good it felt to be drenched enemy blood and pull necklaces off of headless bodies. Carla was reasonably sure this youth had never actually done any of that; she was too young to have been in the Earth-Minbari war, and nobody ever looted the bodies of Shadows or their servants, because they had nothing of value. It was probably a very old song from the days when the dalshon were real pirates.

She was the favorite to win the most shocking war song contest until one of the older dalshon, the geezer with whom Carla had discussed the denn'bok tournament, sang about the wooden spars of broken ships floating on the war, and all the sailors drowned underneath. The other wars songs stirred the blood; this one haunted the soul.

"Oh. My turn?" Carla asked. "Well, it's going to be hard to top that, but I think I have just the thing. This might be the only song composed by a committee to ever top the charts on Earth. Ike wrote most of the words. Before we all started wearing red and blue, that is." That reference was completely lost on her audience. Probably the only Minbari who would have understand that as a reference to the founding of the FPFP would have been Khunnier, and he wasn't here.

Beyond our skies and beyond our power

Fly strange ships of our alien foe

Armed with knowledge that is not ours

Steered by ethics we do not know.

We woke the giant when first we met,

And got ourselves in a hopeless war.

They could have conquered, they might yet.

We still don't know what they spared us for.

And so we tiptoe and fear to offend,

One wrong word could spell our end.

Now they offer friendship, offer peace,

But our lives aren't won, they're only leased.

They were staring at her. They were staring at her the way Minbari stare when they find out what she is. What had possessed her to sing that song for a shipful of Minbari? She had never even shared that sentiment with her own crew.

That first verse could easily apply to the Shadow War. The shock had come to their faces at the end of the second verse, when they realized it was a song about the Earth-Minbari war.

Dovec cleared his throat. "I think we can all agree that one was truly shocking. Is that how humans truly feel? That your lives are on lease, and we could come wipe you out at any moment?"

"Yes. Well, maybe not anymore. We've started to feel more confident since the Shadow War."

"Since you helped win a major war, you mean?" Velec asked.

"No. Earth didn't participate in the Shadow War. Humans did, Babylon 5 did, human Rangers did, human telepaths did, but not Earth. No. That isn't military confidence, it's trust. Trust that you aren't planning to crush us beneath your boots anytime soon. And we started feeling it right about the time the Minbari fleet started taking orders from 'Admiral Starkiller'."

Dovec said, "Truly shocking." He produced a pendant lace pearl on a fine silver chain from his pocket. "The prize goes to Carla. Let's call it a night."

Ilienn took the necklace from Dovec, and Carla let her fasten it for her. The pearl settled over her heart, and gleamed in the fairy light of blue-white spheres hanging from the ship's cabin eaves and boom. It was the perfect jewelry for her: a thing of beauty eaten out from the inside by the baltor mar, scarred until it shredded, and admired because of that, not in spite of it.

Carla shuddered.

"Let's go below," Ilienn said. "The night wind is getting chilly up here."

"Yeah."

End of Chapter 22. Story continues in Chapter 23.


	23. Chapter 23

Punch 23

In the early morning, when the wind died down, some of the Itmas lowered the dinghy and fished with poles, hoping for a few late season stragglers, but did not catch anything. They winched the ship's boat back aboard with good cheer, and were welcomed by the ship's cook with even more cheer, since he had no intention of making fish for lunch. Summer was a time to take a break from fish.

Instead they lunched on fresh fruit and herbs, accented with something vaguely cheese-like that Carla did not dare inquire about. Probably porpoise brains.

One of the dalshon ate his wedge of cheese from a genuine, honest-to-Peter-Pan hook on the end of his arm. Carla averted her eyes. She hated it when people stared at her scars.

She did not ask about the man with the hook; naturally no one hear was really a pirate, but commercial fishing was a dangerous occupation. She just wondered why a family which produced things as wonderful and rare as the lace pearl she was wearing around her neck did not buy him a proper prosthetic hand.

"Land ho!" It was Ilienn, up the rigging again. This ship did not have a crow's nest, but there were plenty of places to climb up and sit on the horizontal beams sprouting from the multiple masts.

Dalshon Island was a patch of deep green in the clear water, ringed by white beaches. Several tall ships were already anchored in the chop just before the sea changed color to a brilliant aquamarine, indicating shallow water.

"It looks like a painting," Carla sighed dreamily. If she squinted a little she could almost call those palm trees. It was the perfect romantic setting. She really missed Firuun.

She would gladly trade a day on a beautiful tropical beach for a night in the grotto light. Well, there would be plenty of such nights coming to her, and only one cruise like this one. Best to grab what life handed out before it passed by.

The dalshon clans each had their own permanent camping spots in the trees just up from the beaches. They were completely invisible from the sea, except for trails leading into the forest. Clan Itma's spot was a patch of level ground on which they pitched tents, and which contained such amenities as a fire circle, picnic benches, and a stone outhouse. It was a bizarrely primitive place to find on Minbar.

Someone in another camp started playing a drum, a deep booming sound that soon had Carla making jokes about Tahitian headhunters and long pig, which the Minbari did not understand.

In the afternoon the clans gathered at the center of the island, in what was quite sensibly called the All Clans Area. It had a large stage, built of stone and backed by a carved mountain wall, down which a little waterfall trickled. The stone was black and porous, possibly volcanic. Nowhere on Dalshon Island did Carla see any of the clear blue crystal of which most Minbari cities were made.

Briefly, she wondered, 'Black stone, white beaches. Does that mean the beaches are made of shell, not sand?'

But then the opening rituals began on the stage. Carla did not understand most of what she saw, but she was never bored. The dalshon went in heavily for song and dance, and ritual costumes involving bright feathers and shells. The ritual involving the bones of large sea creatures was clearly a fishing ritual of some kind, possibly the seagoing clans' equivalent of a harvest festival. And at least some of the dances had recognizable martial arts moves, and clearly commemorated warfare on some level.

Carla was deeply disturbed when some of the dancers carried out a female completely covered in primitive hemp ropes. For a moment she thought she was going to witness a human sacrifice. Except that Carla was the only human here, of course. 'Minbari don't kill Minbari,' Carla reminded herself. When they started unwinding the ropes, Carla sighed in relief. The act ended up as the most decorous strip-tease she had ever seen.

At the conclusion of the main rituals, Dovec led Carla up onto the stage. Carla's heart hammered in her chest. They were all looking at her. Well, of course they were. She was on the stage.

"My fellow dalshon," Dovec addressed the crowd. His words echoed back from the wall behind, amplifying his voice through the carefully planned acoustics of the stage. "This is my adopted daughter, Carla Punch of Clan Itma. And Anla'shok Captain of Whitestar 97. She has sung the Song of the Dalshon for Comac of Clan Itma, and has sailed to Dalshon Island aboard the Itma. She is one of us now."

There was some polite clapping, some enthusiastic whoops from the Itmas, and a few shouts of "dirty humans shouldn't join the Anla'shok or the Dalshon" and similar sentiments.

Dovec located one of the hecklers and gave him the evil eye. "You, there. Do not start any trouble with Carla or you start trouble with all of Clan Itma. She has returned a soul to us. Dalshon tradition demands we make a place for her among us. Defy that tradition and you risk your own soul and that of your sons, should no one be willing to sing for you at the end."

That put a stop to the heckling, but whether out of respect for tradition or simple intimidation, Carla was not sure. In any case it would be best not to assume everyone here was going to be as friendly as the Itmas. Carla figured it would be a bad idea to take any unnecessary walks by herself. She was far past the point where she needed to prove her bravery to herself by tromping around any old 'dark place no one else will enter' that she came across.

There did not turn out to be any trouble, though. There were feasts, there was music, and there was the great race which everyone watched from the beach. It was a fantastic time, only marred by occasionally wishing Firuun was with her.

And then it was time for the war game. Everyone left the island and went back aboard their clan ships, and dispersed.

Carla and Ilienn stood at the ship's rail, watching for sails on the horizon. "So what's the goal of this war game?" Carla asked.

"To find, attack, board, and capture another clan ship, and take a symbolic treasure chest from its hold. The chests actually contain fruit. We all eat it afterwards."

"Wait, board and capture?" Carla asked. "As in the losers get taken prisoner? Uh, is it too late to back out?"

"Oh, no one's going to hurt you, Carla. It's a game. We're all cousins here."

"I'm not."

Ilienn patted her arm reassuringly. "Dalshon don't do the things that Comac did to each other. Well, he did, actually, that's how he ended up out in space as a high ranking intelligence officer instead of a draftee like most of the other dalshon who were in the war. Thaanec, that was four clan chiefs ago, encouraged him to leave the village because he was incorrigible."

"Incorrigible?" Carla chuckled. The idea was completely absurd, and did not square with her memory of the deadly serious officer at all. "Have I fallen into some kind of alternate universe, where everything is a farce?"

"No joke, Carla. He was a disturbed little boy, according to my grandparents. Pulling the claws off of live crayfish, that sort of thing. Not that anybody talked about him much, until we found out a human sang for him at the end of his life. That demanded an explanation, but instead we found you."

"And I defy explanation," Carla said, a quirk of amusement at the corner of her mouth. "I don't even understand myself. Not for lack of trying. Fifteen years in a support group turned peace advocacy organization, and I pop out of the end of it still driven by compulsions I can't explain and vulnerable to the words of a lawyer in a way that even genuine pirates can't really get to me. I'm just plain weird, Ilienn."

On a sudden impulse, Carla turned away from the rail and faced Ilienn. "You seem like a trustworthy person, Ilienn. As part of the lead-up to my marriage, which will be a rebirth ceremony in the Minbari way, I'm supposed to tell someone something I've never told to anyone before."

"Go on," Ilienn encouraged.

"I did sing the Song for Comac. But I'm also the one who killed him."

Ilienn gasped.

Carla told her the story: how Comac infiltrated the raider base, was found out when he signaled the fleet, and was deboned like a fish by the raiders. And how she found him in that state, still alive.

"Then it was a mercy killing," Ilienn said.

"I suppose it was," Carla replied. "But there was an element of vengeance too, just because of who he was, and who I was, and what I am."

"Did you kill him quickly and cleanly?"

"Yes."

"Then it was not revenge. Not for what he did."

"Do you know what he did, Ilienn?"

"Show me. Show me what's underneath that robe."

"Alright. We've already had the conversation, I might as well bring out the conversation piece." Carla undid the lavender robe and hung it over a handy line. She turned her arms over, displaying the scratch scars. The ones on her torso and legs stood out without any further effort.

"Are those baltor mar scars?"

"Yes. Twenty two days, out of eight months. The rest of what he did didn't leave permanent marks. Not ones you can see without a microscope, anyway."

"Shisep in the somatic cells," Ilienn correctly interpreted. "So what are those newer scars?"

"Those are combat injuries." Carla glanced down at herself. "Well, not all of them, actually. The broken shins came after the combat." She shivered in the heat, and put her robe back on.

"In Valen's name, I hope I'm never captured again. I've been a prisoner far too many times for one lifetime. I've been a prisoner of real pirates, recently. And I've been a prisoner of the Minbari. And the idea 'prisoner of Minbari pirates' really does not appeal to me at all." Tears started in her eyes. For once she was not ashamed to cry, she just wished having artificial eyes could have stopped that function somehow. "Ilienn, I'm terrified. Terrified in a way no Ranger ever should be."

"Then let's try to win and do it to the other guys."

Carla sniffed and nodded.

End of Chapter 23, story continues in Chapter 24.


	24. Chapter 24

Punch 24

The Itma rounded an island and came on the other ship suddenly. There was no race to catch it, no maneuvering to take best advantage of the wind. They were in firing range before Ilienn even identified the other ship.

There were no flags; one had to spot the crew to tell whose clan ship it was. The Itma fired a broadside just before Ilienn shouted, "It's the Looth!" The Itma's fruit cannonade smacked into the other ship's armored side and splattered. The Looth returned fire.

Cannon fire. The scent of gunpowder on the wind. Gunpowder. Well, why not gunpowder? All races used the wheel. All spacefaring species discovered fire, and the secret of making steel, and used that steel to make knives. And so on. So why not gunpowder?

The white smoke engulfed the ships as they fired and drew closer to each other, started to roll as they made for open water. The fog of war blew away on the wind and suddenly there were grappling hooks on the Itma's rails.

Carla's first thought was, cut the ropes. But no one was trying to do so. Impervious modern rope? Then Carla realized the real reason: this was supposed to be a nonfatal fight, like a big bar fight. None of these Minbari would willingly cause another to fall into the ocean.

"Bar fight," Carla said aloud. Then she laughed. This was going to be fun!

The Itmas were tossing grappling hooks too. Carla and Ilienn lined up behind them with the other defenders. Then the Looth boarding party arrived.

Carla extended her denn'bok and hit one surprised Minbari in the chin. He screamed and went down on his knees spitting blood. "Mah thongue!"

Carla was not counting him out of the fight yet, though. While other dalshon, both Looth and Itma, gathered around making clucking noises, the fight forgotten, Carla slipped behind him got him in a headlock with her denn'bok across his throat. "Yield," Carla ordered.

He gurgled and spat and put his hands up to his throat in panic. "I Yithglkkkk!"

Carla let him go, and two of his clanmates hurried him off, trailed by half the Itma's defenders, including Ilienn. Going for the first aid supplies, probably.

"What in Valen's name did you think you were doing, you filthy human?" one of the Looth demanded.

Oh-oh. It was mostly Looth here now. Carla raised the denn'bok and the Looth started swinging. He was not very good at it, trying to use it like a gaffe. A fisherman, not a warrior, despite the dalshons' nominal caste. The metal denn'boks crashed against each other.

Carla was winning when all the other Looth started fighting her at once. She wheeled her Pike in a defensive maneuver, and tried to back against the wall of the cabin. It was no good fighting a circle of opponents.

Someone swept her leg, and she stumbled on the pitching deck. But then she rolled and popped back up, and counterattacked.

"Stinking human!" someone said behind her. "Polluting our ways. Take that off!"

Stark white terror arced through her like lightning. She thrust the denn'bok behind her without looking, and kicked at the enemies in front. The end of her Pike connected with someone, and she heard a grunt.

Then someone grabbed her robe, tearing at it, and a red mist descended over her vision. She was back in the berserker fury of the Battle of Tifar, for just one instant. Snarling, she bit the hand, drawing blood and shaking her head like a battle dog.

Then her Anla'shok pin ripped free in her enemy's hand and she realized he had been trying to remove her Ranger badge, not her clothing.

The fury emptied out of her, leaving her feeling weak. Someone grabbed her arms from behind and someone else wrestled the denn'bok out of her hands. Another Looth grabbed a leg, and she kicked someone with her other one, but he held on, and Carla was completely lifted off the deck by a half a dozen Minbari pirates.

She struggled wildly. But she was no match for Minbari strength. Where were the rest of the Itmas? She needed help. If someone could just take out one of the people holding onto her, she could get a hand free and punch someone out.

'Now I miss Firuun more than ever.' With the thought of Firuun came a sudden anticipatory sensation below the belly. The excitement spread to the rest of her body, replacing screams with panting. The previous moment's fear turned to desire.

Crack! Someone got hit with a denn'bok, hard. One enemy let go of her, and then another. The Itmas were counterattacking. Carla landed hard on the deck, and clambered up. She saw her Pike rolling on the deck, and dived through a wall of legs to retrieve it. Then she came up holding her denn'bok like Babe Ruth at bat.

"Come on, you Minbari," Carla whispered, bouncing on her heels. This was an entirely new emotion. Not fear, not red rage, not the joy of battle, but all three mixed in with an undeniable sexuality: bloodlust.

Then she struck, and a silk-shirted dalshon dropped his Pike and fell back away from her. Someone came at her, and she cackled as she fought. She saw everything and nothing. Time was both slowed down until she could see every aspect of the fight, and speeded up like a bad old movie. She needed release. She needed Firuun. But Firuun wasn't here. There was only one other release that would satisfy her: she needed to kill.

Then the fighting stopped. There were Minbari lying all over the deck. For a moment Carla thought she had actually killed some of them, but they were still breathing. Relief washed over her, and then frustration. She jumped up and down, and shrieked, "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

"Carla." It was Ilienn. She had Carla's Anla'shok pin. "I saved this from falling into the sea. Come on, let's get that robe mended."

Carla coughed and leaned on her Pike. The Itmas were standing around her, looking absurd in their bathing suits. She laughed.

"Come on," Ilienn said again.

Carla let Ilienn lead her below. The Itmas started helping the Looths to their feet after Carla started walking away.

Carla looked back over her shoulder, and saw a cluster of handsome young Minbari rubbing their bruises and stretching out their sore muscles. She wanted them all. For a second, she pictured impaling herself on one of them. All of them.

So this was the terrible battle lust that led to the first atrocity committed against her, before she ever reached Tifar. This must have been what the Minbari warriors were feeling in the wake of their triumph, when there was no one left to kill but the wounded lying in the mud.

Sidearm shots, one by one, coup de grace, all but Carla. She had not learned to speak Minbari until she got to Tifar, but she could guess what they had said: We're supposed to take a prisoner for the loribonding program. Which one? Don't be dumb, leave the female alive. Why should the officers have all the fun?

How had she become this horrifying creature? Well, she had not actually done anything. Feeling the emotion was one thing, and acting on it was another.

Carla leaned over the rail and dry-heaved into the sea. Then she let Ilienn steer her below. They went into the hold, where the hammocks swung and barrels sat in the bilge.

"Gah, I'm sick," Carla said.

"We got Anoc's tongue stitched back on," Ilienn said. "Are you alright? When we all came back up on deck and the Looth had hold of you, you looked like you really lost it."

"Thanks for the timely rescue," Carla said. "I'm fine." In her mind, she added, 'Aside from contemplating battlefield rape. During a war game, no less.' Carla did not say that out loud. There was no getting around it: she really was insane. Depraved. Her mother and the adjustment center were right.

She sat down on a barrel to cover her shudder. On Tifar, she had always made the less painful choice. Volunteered for work details, no matter what the work was. Even gravedigging, which was how she had come to learn the Song of the Dalshon.

Even whoring. Which was how she had developed a taste for Minbari. It was true; it had just taken 20 years to develop. Years spent dashing her head against the proverbial brick wall, trying to leap over it. Years spent trying to get over the fear and the hate. And when it finally happened, when all the fear and hate evaporated, the memories turned exciting instead.

Old war stories: terrifying ordeals turned into adventures after the fact. The mind transforming the past until it had no more power to terrify.

So why was she making the more painful choice now? To keep her memories, and her life, and all that she was. When the adjustment center offered her a new life, fresh. As somebody else. Without all her accomplishments, without everything she had worked for, but without all her nightmares either. Without the loathsome desires that grew out of her past.

No. Despite everything, she did not want to die. Not in her physical body, and not in her mind. She was going to have to accept herself as she was, or she would never have peace. Live in the moment. Let the past be past. Let the dead bury the dead.

"Here," Ilienn said. She fastened Carla's Anla'shok pin to her bikini, which promptly sagged with the weight in a socially unacceptable way. "Oh. Hmm. Let me try this." Ilienn retied the strings for her, and Carla sat there staring off into space. Ilienn got the badge on her properly. "I'll see what I can do with your robe. It's torn pretty badly."

"Just recut it into something else," Carla said. "I don't think I want to wear it again."

End of Chapter 24. Story continues in Chapter 25.


	25. Chapter 25

Punch 25

"Would you like to take the wheel?" Dovec asked Carla.

"Yes! Absolutely!"

The ship's wheel was a massive piece of wood. It did not have projecting handles like an Earth ship's wheel, but rather had internal holes where the steersman could take a grip or simply put something through it, his arm, a denn'bok, fishing pole, etc.

"In rough sea, in a storm where the deck and wheel are wet, sometimes a Minbari sailor will put his arms through the holes to stabilize the wheel, when it's raining too hard to get a good grip. On modern fishing trawlers, of course, we have a wheelhouse, and the ship is piloted from indoors."

Carla felt the heavy pull against her hands on the wheel even in this fair weather and light breeze. "If a human tried that, it would probably snap his arm like a twig."

"As you know," Dovec began, "for your upcoming marriage, all the participants are going through the rebirth ceremony. That requires each participant to tell someone a secret he has never before told. I am growing old now, and have been in many such ceremonies, and am running out of benign secrets."

"So you're about to tell me a toxic one? Something you'd never tell to a real relative?"

"I don't know why I picked you to tell. Perhaps because this story is about a human. I can never make up for what I did, of course. Especially not by simply helping some random human, although it soothes my soul to be able to help you in this small way, by giving you the status of a dalshon to keep off the grip of Earth law and its incomprehensible hostility toward the disturbed. The concept of an adjustment center makes my blood run cold, despite the heat of the sun."

"Yeah, me too."

"For the first hundred and sixty years of my life, I was naïve. Oh, I knew the ways of the dalshon well, but the only time I left the village was to fish and sail. I knew nothing of Minbar beyond the sea and the shore, and the clans of the Coastline. I knew even less of other worlds, and space, and other races. And no one, at the time, knew much about humans. No one on Minbar, anyway. So when the caste elders of the military caste started conscripting all able bodied warrior males, to fight the terrible unknown enemy who had murdered our great leader Dukhat, none of us questioned it. And when we were herded aboard war cruisers, and given weapons, and set down on some world of which we had never heard, and told to kill without mercy, for such was the order of the Grey Council, none of us questioned it. And when on our way back, the ship stopped at some little outpost and the spacers went down to the planet for shore leave, and the ground troops' leader brought up some entertainment for us from the planet, none of us questioned it."

Dovec stared out to sea, not so much scanning the horizon for squalls as avoiding Carla's eyes.

"I was a fool like all the others. But after that day, 'understanding is not required, only obedience' was never good enough for me again. I became wary, and questioned everything I heard. Eventually, I became politically savvy, and nobody's fool. And when I returned to the village, this quality brought me notice. That was a turning point in my life, and it eventually led to my becoming the clan chief. So I profited by it, which shames me. All I wanted was to make sure I never made such a terrible mistake again."

"What happened?" Carla asked. "Or do I want to know?"

"The troop leader said he was bringing up some prostitutes for us. Since we were stuck on the ship, while the spacers went dirtside. Three females. Humans. It did not occur to me to wonder how they got human tarts into Minbari space. I just accepted what I was told."

Dovec shifted uncomfortably. "I had only seen humans before when I was killing them. This was the first time I had really looked at one. The one I went to was what you call a blonde. There are other races that have hair, but I had never seen any of them. This one still had some cloth on her, though not actual clothing. Blue silk wrapped around her arms and legs. Later, I realized it must have been concealing bandaged wounds."

Carla tensed. Blue silk. The intense blue of butterfly wings, already cut into panels and ready to be stitched together into Minbari civilian dress. No doubt intended for someone's sister or lover. Used for the day to cover up the unappetizing bits on those supplied to the war cruiser by Comac's generosity. Carla remembered it all too well, with a sudden tactile memory of the way the silk felt against her skin. But she kept her hands on the wheel and her gaze straight ahead to the blue horizon.

Dovec continued, "The female was co-operative. Not enthusiastic, but then I knew nothing of humans; I thought maybe that's just the way humans were. I had no idea what I had really done until afterwards."

Carla's muscles were so stiff she thought she was going to freeze like that, hands clutching the wheel forever. She knew where this story was going. She did not want to hear this welcoming old fellow, this new friend, her adoptive father in Valen's name, place himself in the category of Minbari deserving of all the hate she no longer felt. And yet, to stop the story before it was finished would be intolerable. She had to see it to the end, like watching a natural disaster on ISN.

Dovec's voice trembled a little. Whether the emotion behind it was grief, or rage at the superiors who deceived him, or possibly even pity, Carla could not tell.

"When I was leaving, I saw their clothing piled in the corner. It wasn't whore clothes. Uniforms. Military uniforms, just like the ones I had seen in ground combat. Gropo uniforms. The women were not prostitutes. They were prisoners of war."

"Tifar," Carla said. "The outpost was Tifar."

"Yes. I've always wondered what happened to her. Did she ever have a normal life, with a husband and children. Was she alright in the end."

There was a long pause. Without looking at Dovec, Carla said. "She never had a normal life. She had an exceptional life."

Tears started rolling down her face. "Take the wheel. I have to go be by myself for a while."

Dovec took the wheel. Now he was looking at Carla, and there was concern in his face. "I should not have told that story to you."

"Dovec? I know what happened to her. She became a Ranger."

Carla did not wait to see the inevitable look of horror on his face. She sped off across the deck, seeking anyplace away from everyone else. Anyplace away from the damned Minbari.

End of Chapter 25. Story continues in Chapter 26.


	26. Chapter 26

Punch 26

The Itma blew into the bay and everyone hauled on the ropes to furl the sails. Little children who had been belowdecks with the cannon team during the pirate fight now lent their strength and weight to pulling on the ropes. An eight year old Minbari boy grabbed hold of the line behind Carla and pulled, and she danced backward. The child's size was deceiving; he weighed about as much as she did and was just as strong.

It was a peculiar realization. She was used to the idea that Minbari adults were much stronger than humans and massed more than humans of similar dimensions, but she had not encountered many Minbari children before.

Then the wooden ship dropped anchor in the harbor. All hands went to the rail to wave at the people lined up on the dock and the beach: the crew of Whitestar 97, back in their uniforms, and Firuun and Carla's wedding guests. And assorted photographers, only one of which had been invited.

Oh, of course. Up on the hill was Carla's Whitestar, and between the village and the hill, parked on the road, was the Presidential motorcade. So Sheridan and Delenn were here.

Carla was abruptly aware of her body, in a yellow string bikini. She had not counted on the possibility that she might be on ISN. But then she dismissed the thought. She had gotten fewer stares than she expected from the Itmas when she emerged on deck without her welcome robe after it was torn. Her scars were so old they had gone beyond white and were now mostly the same color as her skin. Nobody on the shore was going to see them, even with a telephoto lens.

Carla's gaze swept over the crowd on the dock. Two tall figures towered above the rest. One of them was Ike. Carla smiled. So he had made it! She wondered if any of her other old FPFP comrades had made the trek to Minbar.

Then her eye rested on the other tall fellow. Firuun. Her breath caught and a lance of desire went right down her belly.

She left behind all her self-doubts. She knew what she wanted, and she didn't care why. She wanted Firuun to screw her brains out.

Carla got an unwelcome mental image of exactly how that might actually happen, and shuddered. Given the different anatomy, and the strength of Minbari bone, it was a good thing Minbari were not into the vagina dentata like human men were. A Minbari trying to get head might actually pierce right through the skull, and the brains would puff out through the ears.

Carla shook her head to clear the thought-picture. She concentrated on the here and now: the sound of the sea, the waving from the shore, the wind in her hair. When had her silver hair grown long enough to blow around?

With the horrifying mental image gone, Carla's excitement came right back. She was going to be in the first dinghy to go ashore. And the first place she was going was the ship's appendix.

Well, no, the first place she was going was the shower. She had been on the Itma or Dalshon Island for two weeks, and although she had actually swum on the beach on the island, that was a week ago now. Maybe Firuun would join her. Or hell, maybe she'd shower after.

In any case she was certainly not waiting until after the ceremony. That wasn't until afternoon, and then there was going to be a reception. She wanted to enjoy talking with her guests, instead of counting the seconds until night.

"Carla?" It was Dovec. He had been avoiding her since their conversation, she was sure.

"Yes?"

"Do you still want me to officiate?"

"Dovec!" Carla's objection came out almost as a whine, and she tried to moderate it. "Some of my wedding guests came all the way from Earth!"

"Sa—I mean, Entilza Delenn, could officiate."

"She's not a ship captain. It's important to me that the wedding be legal in human terms. Valen knows why."

Dovec nodded, looking haunted.

"Dovec, look. I made my peace with what happened in the war. That's why I'm here. That's how I'm here. Because I sang the Song for Comac."

"Do you forgive me?"

"No. Excusing is a much easier mental trick. You were lied to. Responsibility goes up the chain of command. But I don't really want to think too hard about that, either."

Dovec glanced at the shore. Of course she could not tell, at this distance, whom he was looking at, but obviously it had to be Entliza Delenn. Formerly Satai Delenn.

His one great mistake had been a turning point in his life, he said. He learned from it, and it made him a leader. How many great mistakes had made Delenn the leader she was now?

"I live for the One," Carla said softly, too low to be heard above the wind off the sea. "I die for the One."

\

The interior of the Presidential groundcar was a haven from the harsh sea wind, the smell of the tidepools, and the press.

"We could have gotten here faster in a Whitestar," Delenn said.

"I like road trips. Will you relax? We're here already, and we're early."

"John. I have not yet completed all the necessary steps leading up the rebirth ceremony." She shifted David out of his little seat and cradled him in her arms.

"Me neither. I've been trying to think of something I've never told anyone."

"As have I."

There was a pause. Then Sheridan said, "Ladies first?"

"I was married once before."

"What?"

"No Minbari of my rank and age has never been married. If we fail to produce our own partner in a reasonable amount of time, our clans arrange a marriage for us."

"So what happened?"

"Clan Mir decided to wed me to a scion of Clan Vetys. A reasonable choice for my station. He was similar in age, religious caste of course, not ugly. But dreadfully boring. And I told him so. He decided to change himself, to be more appealing to me. He wanted me to love him. So he took up glide-racing, a dangerous sport. And wrapped himself around a mountainside. A few days after we were married."

"Oh, God, Delenn. That's awful." The terrible parallel with Lennier's decision to become a Ranger was obvious. No wonder Delenn had nearly been in tears when he left to begin his training. All this time, Sheridan had thought that was proof that she loved Lennier.

Sheridan slid over and put his arm awkwardly around Delenn's shoulders, trying not to make her shift forward so she would not wake the baby.

"Your turn."

"Right after that? Mine is too trivial. Let's wait a bit, huh?"

End of Chapter 26. Story continues in Chapter 27.


	27. Chapter 27

Punch 27

Blue-green light played over Carla and Firuun. He pulled at the ties of the bikini and it came right off. "Hmm. It's like that stuff you humans call 'gift wrap'."

Carla giggled.

He pushed her legs apart and met resistance. "Carla? Are you not in the mood after all?"

"I'm cold. It's freezing in here! I got used to the tropical heat."

"Oh." He grinned. For the first time he lay full on her, not supporting his weight with with his arms. The air went out of her in an audible whoosh, and Firuun's smile ran off of his face like water off the deck. He rolled and scooted in the confines of the ship's appendix until Carla was on top, and wrapped his arms and legs around her. "Better?"

"Yes. Firuun, you actually can be on me, you know. As long as you keep moving, I'll breathe mechanically with your movements. You won't suffocate me."

"You sound awfully sure."

"I am sure. If I was going to be crushed under a Minbari it would have happened twenty years ago."

"Oh." He held her, but he made no move to start anything.

"Sorry. Mood-spoiler."

"Don't apologize to me for that, Carla."

"Um, yeah, I guess that is a little ironic, isn't it." Carla tried some sensual massage, but Firuun was staring at the ceiling, as if mesmerized by the shifting light. "Um. You okay in there? Knock knock, anybody home?" Carla made a soft knocking motion on his head bone.

"Just for my curiosity. Not to make anything of it, or, or anything. But just how many were there?"

"How many?" Carla asked. "Huh, I don't even know. Usually it was the same people. Guards, people assigned to the base. For the evening entertainment. Sometimes as few as three or four in an evening. Usually a half a dozen or so. But then sometimes a ship came in and a whole bunch lined up, and sometimes we were taken up to passing war cruisers. Work detail. Entertain the troops."

"So, hundreds?"

"Firuun, sometimes, on the work details, it was a hundred in a single day. Probably thousands."

Firuun closed his eyes, hugged her tight, and wept.

"Firuun, I'm OK. We're here now. We're going to get married today. This is a good moment."

"How do you do it?" Firuun croaked.

"What, live with the past? Same way you do. By being in the present. And by retelling the tales to myself in a positive light, wherever I can find one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, take your story, for instance." She put a hand flat on his chest. "Underneath this armor is the evidence of an atrocity just as horrifying as mine. But you don't go around telling people that evil humans gave you smallpox to see if they could figure out how to commit genocide against your race. Even though that's the truth."

"More or less," Firuun rumbled.

"You hardly ever talk about your experiences as a POW, but when you do you talk about Sheridan. And, frankly, you sound like a groupie."

"I'm not sure what that is, but my brother would agree with you. He's probably here, by the way, so I would warn you about him. He gets along with me about as well as your family gets along with you."

"Oh. Anyway, then let's take your story about the prison, in between leaving the Lexington and ending up as a lab rat. The way you tell the story, you got in a fight, the guards 'had' to knock you senseless to save another Minbari prisoner, and then they put you in 'protective isolation'. You could easily have said they beat you and kept you in solitary confinement. And that would be the truth too."

"Yes. It would. I prefer my version."

"Because it's easier to live with," Carla said. "Yeah. There isn't much positive I can say about Tifar, but in the Loribond Victims' Support Group, we tried all kinds of different ways of dealing with it. And we found it actually did help to recast our personal stories with any positive angle we could come up with. Ike called his story a hero's journey. I couldn't quite see mine that way. But I was not a hundred percent powerless all the time. I did have choices. Not good ones, but… My choice, nonetheless."

Firuun waited, either in patience or dread, for Carla to collect her thoughts and continue.

"It wasn't much of a choice. Spend the day under several dozen warriors, or spend the day under Comac's hands, screaming myself hoarse. But it was my choice. Work details were always made up of volunteers."

"That's your idea of a positive angle? Blaming yourself for being raped because they threatened to torture you?"

"It's easier not to give in to hate and fear that way. I know it's kind of messed up, but it gets me through—things." Carla shivered, but not with cold. Firuun's warm embrace had never slackened.

"What things?" Firuun asked. "Was it the battle? We recorded everything we could with ship's sensors. The whole crew watched your adventures with the dalshon. You don't know how hard it was just to keep hovering out of sight and not swoop in to rescue you when you were surrounded."

"No. Not that. Thanks, though. Both for being concerned and for not interfering."

"I was afraid if we cheated it would dissolve the adoption. But you won, so it was alright. You were magnificent. The great Captain Punch versus five Minbari pirates. Whap, whap, whap, whap, and whap, down, down, down, down, and down. Pirates on the deck. Not a scratch on the Captain." Firuun grinned.

Carla nodded. She couldn't help but crack a smile for a moment at the admiration in his eyes. "The dress was a total loss, though." Her expression turned serious again. "No, it's just… It was inevitable, if I kept hanging around Minbari, sooner or later I'd meet someone I'd met in the war. Most of the humans I knew back then are dead. But most of the Minbari are still around."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. One of the dalshon, obviously. But I've spent my whole lifetime getting over the war, and I'm not about to let a chance meeting spoil things for me. Especially not today of all days. So." Carla slipped a hand inside his armor. "I want you and I'm going to take you."

Firuun made an appreciative noise, loosened his embrace and let her position herself. And they did not emerge from the ship's appendix until it was time to get dressed for the wedding.


	28. Chapter 28

Punch 28

Carla was back in uniform, for an hour. She did not go out to the beach to greet guests on her way from her ship down to the dock. There would be plenty of time for conversation at the reception after the ceremony.

She, Firuun, and a few select crewmembers were on their way back to the Itma. Carla gazed at the tall ship in the harbor, and only looked back when she wondered why the dinghy wasn't sailing yet. Firuun was still on the dock.

His expression was mostly one of puzzlement and consternation. He had both hands on the dinghy's gunwale as if he were about to step in, but he just stuck like that.

Carla shifted herself back to the stern. "Firuun?"

"I'm a warrior. A Windsword. I'm not afraid of death."

"It's a ship of sails, Firuun. A ship of life. It's OK."

He put one foot in the boat, cautiously.

"Come on." Carla wanted to hold his hand, but his hands were still clutching the side of the dinghy. So, smiling softly, she took hold of one head bone spike and pulled him over on her. She laughed as he landed in the boat, hands splayed on the thwarts to keep from crushing her, and the boat rocked with the sudden shift of weight.

"For that you'll have to wait til after we're married," Firuun rumbled, getting into a seated position.

Carla giggled again. Then they sat together and one of the dalshon set the sailed and steered them to the Itma.

"You OK?" Carla whispered in his ear.

"While you were gone, an old religious came to the village. It was at nightfall, after we had set the ship back down after your party made camp on the island. He wanted to buy a dalshon boat. The boat was there, but there were no dalshon to sing for him. We told him he could wait for the dalshon to return. And he got in the boat without sails and died there. When we came out of the Whitestar just now, I saw the boat was no longer at the end of the dock, so the dalshon must have sung the Song and sent the boat out. I guess they have motors or something. Well, they must. And some sort of automatic steering mechanism. Or maybe it's radio controlled?" Firuun started mumbling in High Engineering.

Carla put her arm around Firuun. She could barely reach. "I thought funeral customs were supposed to comfort people."

\

"John, you're running out of time to divulge your secret."

"I know."

"We can't stay in this limousine forever. It's time to go the ship."

"I know."

Delenn sighed, and rocked David. "So what did you give up?"

"You didn't notice?"

"Notice what?"

"In our suite in the palace."

"What?"

"I put the picture of Anna away."

"Oh, John." She put a hand over his heart. "I know how important that was to you. That was the right decision. It was time."

"So what did you give up?"

"I gave the Triluminary back to the Grey Council. I should have done it long ago. I needed it for my transformation, but there was no reason to keep it after that. Now they have all three again. So. What has you never told anyone before?"

"So. Delenn. I, uh. I don't actually like flarn."

\

"It's in here," Ilienn said. Ilienn and Milenn whisked Carla off to the one truly private space on the Itma, the captain's cabin, to change. The cabin had been completely redecorated, Carla presumed, unless Dovec's taste ran to pink frills. Somehow Carla did not think so.

"Love what you've done," Carla smiled, gesturing to the girly décor. "It had occurred to me that using Dovec's room tonight would be a little weird. Now it looks like a hotel, sort of. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Ilienn. "Now see what the Itma females have made for you." She pulled the bed canopy back. Laid out on it for later was a silk nightgown cut down from the lavender welcome robe. And there was The Dress. Set out in three parts, the kimono, the over robe, and the veil.

The under dress was white satin, the hems decorated with white-on-white embroidery of wave shapes. The over robe was made of panels of two contrasting fabrics in the Minbari style, one white damask in serpentine wave forms, one white brocade in a flower design, the whole embroidered with silver thread and encrusted with pearls. The veil was floaty white gauze weighted down on the hems like a fishing net with silver beads and pearls.

"It's gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. Thank you." Carla started to reach to embrace Ilienn in the human fashion, but changed the gesture to a heart-touch.

"I read that human women wear white dresses at their weddings."

"We do. And there's an old custom. We wear 'something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.' This dress is the something new. Does my lace pearl pendant count as something old?"

"I would say so," Ilienn said. "And these are borrowed. They're mine." Ilienn indicated the white satin slippers. "I was actually going to give them to you, but that wouldn't fit the tradition."

Carla pinned her Ranger badge to the dress. "And this is my something blue." She laughed. "Well, blue-green, anyway."

When Carla came out of the cabin in her wedding gown, everyone stared in a completely different way than the way people usually did. And Carla did not mind at all.

The photographer took pictures, and low in the sky, her Whitestar made a lazy pass over the tall ship, also recording. All her crew were invited to the wedding, but many of them preferred not to board the dalshon vessel.

Carla did not look at the faces of her wedding guests. She did not want to count who was here and who was not, not until the reception when it was time to make conversation. Now she only looked at Firuun.

The participants and onlookers gathered on the ship's bow. Carla and Firuun stood a little way in front of the other participants, the principle guests and various of Firuun's relatives. They included Sheridan and Delenn, Ike and any of Carla's other human invitees who had come, Khunnier, and various Imbalos, some of which were members of the crew of Whitestar 97. Behind them in the third rank gathered the adult Itmas, also participating. The children scampered up into the rigging to get a good view. The rest of Carla's crew looked on, either standing on the wooden planking behind the participants, or watching the 3D display on the ceiling of the bridge of her ship.

The ceremony began with quotes from Valen. Carla wondered if Sinclair had ever actually said anything so melodramatic. She had never met the man, but many of the teachers at the Ranger base in Tuzanor had, and the way they had talked about him, he seemed to be a practical sort, a war leader in the truest sense.

It was her turn.

"This is your death. Taste of it." Carla took the red fruit from Dovec's hand. He was looking at the fruit. Carla wondered if he were concentrating on its esoteric meaning, or if he just would not meet her eyes.

It was good fruit, balanced between sweet and tart. When she had undergone a rebirth ceremony as part of Anla'shok training, the fruit had been quite sour. Carla smiled and looked at Firuun, who was looking at her. She watched him eat his red fruit. Almost done.

Dovec handed out fruit to all the participants, and then the Minbari ceremony was complete. But Firuun and Carla also exchanged rings in the human way: bands of braided gold and silver, like the gold human and silver Minbari figures on her Anla'shok pin.

Then the solemnity broke and the children cheered and laughed, and everyone started milling around. The reception was officially at the other end of the ship, where a buffet had been set up.

But Carla was engulfed in guests as soon as she handed off her veil to Milenn to put away for her.

Ike cut a dashing figure in the latest Earth fashion. One of the other former FPFP men was acting as Ike's photographer, as Ike was running for mayor of New Orleans. "Whoa, girl, you look great! How did you lose so much weight?"

"Got shot in the stomach."

"Oh. But I ought to see the other guy, right?"

"Well, yeah."

Then Carla caught sight of a small, dumpy woman in a peach flowered dress: Daniella Punch. "Mom? You came!"

Her mother embraced Carla. Carla hugged her back.

Khunnier said to Ike, "Guys. Plural. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. And the most frightening."

Ike said, "Well, tell me all about it." The two of them went off to tell stories about the bride.

Daniella let go after a few minutes. "My little girl was getting married. How could I stay away?"

"Is dad here too?"

"No, honey. You know how he is."

"Yeah. I guess I really can't picture him coming to Minbar."

Sheridan and Delenn came by next to congratulate the couple. Firuun and Sheridan engaged in a backslapping embrace that left the human grey-faced and trying hard to keep smiling. Firuun refrained from causing a ruckus by using his nickname.

Entilza Delenn favored Carla with a crinkle-eyed smile and said, "I think this is the first time anyone has worn one of those on a wedding gown."

Ike made sure to get lots pictures of himself meeting President Sheridan.

Carla and her mother made their way to the snack buffet, chatting and catching up. It was almost normal to talk to her, and neither of them mentioned the events of their last meeting.

Daniella did not invite Carla to visit her on Earth, both women ignoring the elephant in the room in the form of the outstanding warrant for Carla's transport and detention at an adjustment center, which was probably still enforceable in Earth space. Carla's status as an officially adopted 'Minbari' would keep bounty hunters away, and let her visit human colonies outside of Earth jurisdiction such as Mars or Babylon 5, but it would not protect her if she ever returned to Earth without her Whitestar to back her up. That thought reminded Carla just how permanent her decision to go through with the adoption, and the marriage, really were. She could never go home.

Well, she was a ship captain. Her ship was her home.

"Captain?"

"Nelonn! I'm so glad you could make it here."

"This is my Master, Venmer."

Venmer was a dignified old religious in the gold robe of his caste.

"So this is the famous Captain Punch. I've heard so much about you. Not all of it would be entirely believable, if I Nelonn had not shared some thoughts with me while were training his talent."

"Not any of the nightmares, I hope."

"No, no, only his own thoughts. But the boy is always saying, Captain Punch says this, Captain Punch does that. He actually convinced one of my lady patients to take up denn'bok fighting. Seems to have done wonders for her attitude. Too bad he is only an apprentice telepath and not an apprentice counselor. Still stuck on that military caste nonsense. Hmmpf." Venmer said that good-naturedly, so Carla figured it was some kind of running joke between them.

Carla and Firuun mingled with their guests until nightfall. Then they retired to the pink frilly cabin. And skipped breakfast.

End of Chapter 28. Story continues in Chapter 29.


	29. Chapter 29

Punch 29

From the deck of the Itma, Carla could see that someone had attached streamers to the back of her Whitestar. She hoped they had not also painted "Just Married" on it. The streamers would burn up when the ship flew through the atmosphere, but paint might stick around.

"Look at that," Carla gestured with the hand that held the beer. How the Itmas had come up with a case of beer for the humans, she did not know.

Her mother looked where she was pointing. "Oh. Decorations. I wonder if the FPFP boys did that?"

"Maybe."

"I wonder what's for lunch? I hope it's not that awful flarn stuff. The clam chowder isn't half bad." Mrs. Punch turned to look at the buffet, which currently held the last of the reception goodies. After lunch everyone except a cleanup crew would leave the Itma until the next holiday season.

Daniella Punch clutched Carla's arm. "It's that creature. The thing that assumed human form. It's reproduced!"

"Huh?" Carla turned to look. "That's Entilza Delenn. And her son David."

"It has hair."

"The baby? Yeah, a nice full head of hair."

"They found another way to wipe us out. Breed us out of the universe. Subvert our genome."

"Mom," Carla whined. "I don't want to hear it, OK?"

"I think I'll leave before lunch. I'm not hungry. I brought some of your things with me, though."

"There really isn't a lot of room for extra stuff in a Whitestar."

"It's not much, just one little suitcase."

"OK, fine, just leave it on the ship's ramp for me."

"I hate to think of you all alone on a ship full of Them. My poor little girl."

"Mom. I'm forty three." Carla hated the whine in her voice. It made her sound like a rebellious teenager. But her mother just brought it right out of her.

"I know, honey. I remember when you were born. You were just the cutest little thing. You opened those big blue eyes and looked right at me. Those new ones are pretty, but they're just not you, honey."

"I like them."

"Good-bye, sweetie pie." Mrs. Punch teared up as she embraced Carla.

"Bye, mom. Safe trip."

Then Mrs. Punch made her way down the deck and clambered into the dinghy with a few other people who were leaving early. Including the Sheridans, who were no doubt quite busy. Carla hoped her mother wouldn't say anything ugly to them.

"Whew. Hard parts are over," Carla sighed to herself. "It's all downhill from here. In Valen's name, I need some air." Which was an odd thing to say when she was outside, but her mother's presence had felt stuffy. She went off in search of solitude, to commune with the sea.

\

Alyt Teshar of Clan Imbalo was not freak-tall like his younger brother Firuun. But he was still unusually tall for a Minbari, and built like a linebacker. The family resemblance was most apparent in his head bone, spiky like a punk.

"Firuun."

"Teshar."

"Well, you actually did it." Teshar's voice was not quite as deep and loud as Firuun's either, but he would have been an automatic alpha male standing next to anybody else.

"That was five whole words. I guess our relationship is improving."

"I always come for the important rituals. I was there when you were made clan chief."

"I remember. You said 'congratulations.' Not a word about Sharn."

The general shrugged one shoulder. "He went out like a warrior. How can I mourn?"

"You're just as glad he never got old enough to find a mate."

"Too true. And how's Dilis?"

"Fine."

"Where is Dilis?"

"Something came up. She couldn't make it. You know how it is with doctors."

"As usual you're not telling the whole truth. I can always tell, Firuun. I'm still your brother."

"You know, this is the longest conversation we've had since the war."

"Yes, well, that last argument we had would have ended in den sha if we hadn't both walked away."

"We didn't have to keep on walking for twenty years."

"Eighteen and a half years. And it seems to have paid off for you."

"What? Oh, of course. My 'pathetic obsession with Starkiller'."

"I've seen the highlight reel the sports fans pass around. So you finally got to be best buddies with Starkiller. Good for you. And now you married a human." Teshar shook his head. "I hated humans then and I hate humans now. They do make good hole though."

"Teshar!" Firuun boomed. "Carla is my wife. Not a 'hole'."

"Oh, come on. Everybody knows she was always the best trained of the bunch." Teshar grinned and winked. "Never had the pleasure myself. But I certainly heard plenty."

"Teshar! Walk away! Now!"

"Alright!" Teshar made an open-hands gesture and walked off toward the stern. He kept walking along and came to the nearly deserted ocean-facing side of the ship. There was only one other person there.

Carla leaned on the rail and stared off into the horizon. Blue sea below, blue sky above, a brisk wind countering the baking heat of the afternoon. She had a good feeling inside, all the way down to the soles of her feet.

Someone jammed up against her, knocking her forward. Her feet left the deck. She caught the spokes holding up the ship's rail, keeping her and whoever was behind her from falling over the side. Hands cupped her breasts through her bikini.

She turned her head. "You're not Firuun."

"Close enough, little human whore. You married the whole clan, you know. And I'm BIG brother." He ground into her, so she had no doubt what he meant.

"I'm your brother's wife, in Valen's name."

"Don't you profane that name, human." He let go with one hand, and Carla knew what he was going to do. He had said her phrase. She was sure he was not anyone she had seen before; the family resemblance would have been obvious when she met Firuun, if she had seen Teshar before. But he must have been friends with someone who talked about her.

If she just let go of the spokes of the railing, the balance would shift and she could tip him right into the sea. The only thing was, she thought she might go over the side, too. Of course, Carla could swim. But if Teshar got ahold of her in the water, his weight would pull them both down to the bottom of the sea.

He pulled her bikini bottom down. He was about to enter her. She had to decide, quick.

After a lifetime of rape, what was one more rape? This was Firuun's brother. How could she kill Firuun's brother? But if she could stop it and she didn't, then it wasn't really rape, was it? What would be easier for Firuun to live with: that his wife killed his brother, or that his wife opened for his brother?

Too late: Teshar was inside her. "You like to be forced by Minbari warriors, don't you? I bet you like Firuun to hold you down."

Carla started crying. It was true, she did like Firuun to do that. But only Firuun.

Carla heard running footsteps. Someone was almost here. What if it was her mother? No, she had left. What if it was Firuun? Fratricide. No. No. She couldn't let it happen.

Carla let go. She leaned forward and felt the balance shift.

"What?" Teshar sounded puzzled. Then he slid off, and slid out, and tumbled over the side.

Carla screamed and grabbed for the rail spokes, but hit the smooth, weathered planking of the side of the ship. Splash! Teshar hit the water below her. She was falling.

Then hands grabbed her legs and hauled her back aboard the Itma.

Carla wiped her tears and stood up.

"Nelonn?"

"I felt your fear." He was ashen-faced, and he glanced down at her and looked away.

Carla made a high pitched little sound and pulled her bikini back on. "Oh God. I just killed Firuun's brother."

Nelonn closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. "I summoned Venmer. Do you want me to go get Firuun after he gets here? Or, or Milenn? Or maybe Renbor? Or your mother?"

"In Valen's name, no, not my mother. The last thing we need around here is a screamfest of racist hysteria. Let her leave like she planned." Carla's voice went high again. "Is the deck pitching?"

"Sit down, Captain."

Carla thumped down onto the deck, and scuttled over to the cabin wall, and leaned against it the way a Minbari would.

"Ilienn. Get Ilienn. Someone should sing. For Alyt Teshar." Carla wiped at fresh tears. "Or maybe he can just rot in hell!"

Venmer arrived, running spryly across the deck, and knelt down beside Carla. "How badly are you injured?"

"I'm not," Carla said. "Not physically, anyway." She wiped her face again. "Things were going so well! Why, why, why? What malicious god hates me so much?"

Venmer shook his head sadly. "The only why comes from people. I know why Teshar attacked you."

Carla stopped crying and looked at Venmer attentively. She wiped her face again. "Oh. Of course you do. You're a telepath. Why?"

"Because he was an asshole."

This surprised a brief smile out of Carla. "Yeah."

Nelonn said, "I'll get Ilienn."

End of Chapter 29. Story continues in Chapter 30.


	30. Chapter 30

Punch 30

Firuun hummed a happy tune as he went into the Itma's cabin to pack up. He shrugged off his argument with Teshar; he and his brother had not gotten along since he came back from the war, and he could hardly expect that to change now. But Teshar's opinion didn't matter; Firuun was the clan chief, and he did not need anyone's permission to marry. And he was already married. To Carla. And they had finally gotten a night together in a decent sized private room big enough to stand up in—not that either of them had done much standing. Life was good.

Firuun folded up his uniform and packed it. He was wearing his green welcome robe over swim trunks one last time before going back to the ship. Duty waited for him, but that was after lunch. He rolled up Carla's wedding dress carefully and packed it away. The lavender negligee went in next, but Firuun paused with a smile on his face, remembering how Carla looked in it. It had a plunging neckline that exposed her scars, but she had shown no sign of being self conscious about them. He wished he could be as unconcerned about his own scars. 

He looked for other things to pack, and came up with Carla's Pike. He frowned. She had not worn it with her wedding dress, either, but on her own ship she had it with her all the time. He did not put it in the suitcase, but on top of her uniform, which he set out ready for her. 

He wondered whether their life together would be different in any way now that they were married. He briefly considered officially moving in to the ship's appendix, but he could not actually sleep in there. The ceiling was too low for a proper sleeping platform, and he had tried sleeping human fashion, lying flat, a couple of times, and had become short of breath. That was a feeling with terrible associations, conjuring up the time he had spent floating in space in a powered work suit in a field of spinning debris that had once been his ship, thinking that he was about to die. Not that anyone needed a bad memory to be panicked by the feeling of not being able to breathe. He imagined drowning probably felt similar to suffocating in space. 

Firuun reminded himself that he was inside a cabin and the ship was at anchor in good weather, and he was not going to fall into the sea. He was safe. 

His commlink beeped. Was something wrong with the Whitestar? But he had just seen it before he came into the cabin, parked up on the knoll. "Firuun here."

"Firuun, it's John. I just saw the news. I wanted, we wanted to let you know if there's anything we can do, just ask. Delenn wanted to turn about and come back, but I don't think my presence would help matters." 

"What news?"

"You don't know yet? It's all over ISN. I was watching it in the groundcar. Ike's press secretary recorded an interview."

"What, John?"

"Uh, I think you had better go talk to Carla."

Delenn's voice came over the link. "Perhaps you should watch the broadcast first."

"What happened?" Firuun thundered. There was an uncomfortable pause. "Never mind, I'll find out. Firuun out."

He raced out onto the deck. No one was around. He was not about to go running around the Itma until he stumbled onto whatever it was. 

He got on the commlink again and hailed Whitestar 97. "Patch the ISN feed to my link."

He heard Ike's voice say, "You're famous as an accomplished denn'bok fighter. Why did you take him on hand to hand?"

Carla's voice, shaky and oddly dreamy, as if detached from reality, responded, "I didn't have it with me. I left my Pike in my cabin. There was no place to wear it on my bikini." 

Dread started growing like a seed in Firuun's belly, and quickly blossomed into near-certainty: Teshar. Teshar must have attacked Carla. It was his fault. He should have called out Teshar for a den sha match, as he had wanted to. He should not have controlled himself; he should have given in to his anger. Then Teshar would not have gone and attacked Carla because he was mad at Firuun.

Khunnier's voice now: "I checked the computer records. You're the only human ever to kill a Minbari in unarmed combat." 

Kill? Carla killed Teshar? In unarmed combat? Huh? How? 

Another voice, faint, singing. It was not coming over the link. Firuun shut it off. That was Ilienn, singing the Song of the Dalshon. For Teshar?

Firuun followed the voice. On the far side of the Itma, Carla was standing up but leaning back against the cabin wall. Nelonn and Venmer knelt in front of her, and Khunnier and some of the other crewmen were keeping everyone else back. Ike's cameraman was recording Ilienn standing at the ship's rail, facing out to sea, singing. 

Dovec hung back in the back of the crowd, looking as close to seasick as any dalshon ever looked. He spotted Firuun first. "Firuun. Velec looked for you. Have you heard?"

Firuun shouldered his way through the crowd. "Carla?" Her expression was strange and unreadable. He picked her up and hugged her. 

When her feet left the floor she squeaked, "Put me down put me down put me down!"

He set her back on her feet, and she held up her hands in a strange stiff-fingered gesture of denial and repulsion. She tilted her head to the side, and her eyes and mouth both remained open but squinched up, as if she could not decide whether to squeeze her eyes shut or scream. 

"What happened?" Firuun asked. When Carla did not respond, he turned to Khunnier and asked again.

"Teshar attacked her."

"I figured that part. And I gather he's dead. I wish he were still alive so I could kill him again. And again and again. Where is he?"

"There." Khunnier pointed to the sea.

Firuun took an involuntary step back away from the railing. He looked back at Carla. How could Carla have possibly picked up Teshar and tossed him overboard? She had grown stronger these past few months, after getting out of the countergrav chair; she had worked out a lot and had put on quite a bit of muscle mass, but she was still human. 

"What happened?" he asked again, and this time there was fear in his voice. 

Khunnier said, "Nelonn says Teshar attacked Carla from behind. He had the element of surprise. But she defeated him somehow. He is less clear on that point. His initial impression was a telepathic feeling of behind attacked from behind. After that he did not see the fight except for the last part, when Teshar went into the water, which he saw with his own eyes." 

Ike's publicity man swung back over to Khunnier, now that Ilienn had finished the Song. "You said earlier that Captain Punch is the only human ever to defeat a Minbari in unarmed combat. This attack from behind makes that an ever more exceptional feat."

"No, she is the only human to kill a Minbari in unarmed combat. There may be others, but I know of at least one other instance of a human defeating a Minbari hand to hand. I know if it because I studied his life. Another human once defeated a Minbari, an alyt in fact, the same rank as Teshar, in a hand to hand struggle. He was attacked from behind too."

"Who was that?"

"Jeffrey Sinclair." 

Carla said, "Not that whole Valen thing again."

"The parallels are adding up," Khunnier said. 

"It's bad enough knowing I'm going to end up being admired for this, by gung ho fight mongers who can't resist a good action yarn. But I don't want to be worshipped! In Valen's name, leave it alone! And leave me alone! Can't I get some damned privacy around here?"

Nelonn stood up. "Everyone please give the Captain some space. Perhaps the Captain would wish to retire to the cabin?"

"Yeah. That's not a bad idea." Carla made a parting-the-red-sea gesture. "Make a hole, I'm coming through." She walked to the cabin and shut the door.

Firuun was not sure whether she meant to shut him out, or just did not notice he was there. Nelonn, Venmer, Khunnier, and Ilienn were all clustered outside the cabin door, too. 

"Alright," Firuun said. "What is going on, really? Carla likes fighting. She has killed way too many people to be affected like that just from being in a fight. Sure, it was my brother, but it's not like he was ever a friend to her. She didn't know him." 

Venmer said, "How well did you know your brother?"

"He hated humans. And we had just argued. I was on the verge of killing him, but I restrained myself. He said some awful things. I should have challenged him. I should have challenged him the first time we argued about humans. I thought I was doing right to stop myself." Firuun's anger was back. He smacked a fist into his other hand. "So he goes and fights with Carla instead. But something isn't adding up. I've seen Carla after a fight plenty of times, lethal and otherwise. She's usually charged up, happy, giddy even, even when she's stone cold sober." 

Nelonn said, "When Teshar went over the side, he was hanging out in front. I saw it. Not in here, with my own eyes. And her, her bathing costume was in disarray." 

Firuun's voice came out small, all the energy leached right out of him. "He tried to rape her? What kind of person tries to rape his brother's wife? Even if he did hate humans."

Venmer said, "If it is of any comfort to you, there are evildoers in many clans, some of whom are still alive and making trouble. I deal with these matters every day; it is my calling. If I can be of service, I would like to help you." 

"Family counselor. Right," Firuun said. "And how is your apprentice doing?"

Nelonn said, "I'm fine. I've seen things just as horrible in the minds of those we help. After a while you get used to it. I've seen terrible things in the Captain's mind too, before I was apprenticed to Master Venmer. Don't worry about me." 

Firuun knocked on the cabin door. "Carla? Can I come in?"

She opened the door, grabbed the front of the welcome robe and pulled him inside, and slammed the door shut. "I shouldn't, shouldn't want you right now." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's too weird. I ought to be completely traumatized and I shouldn't even want to look at a male, or a Minbari, and especially not you because you do look a little bit like your brother. My polarity is reversed. I can't stand the smell of the flowers of Tifar, but when I was there they were a comfort to me. And now I react to this by wanting you. I'm insane. They were right. I'm insane." 

She grabbed at him, and Firuun fended her off.

"You don't want me. You just want to face your fears. But this isn't a Ranger mission."

Carla reached for him again. "I do. I do want you." But she was still crying.

"I have feelings too."

"I know that!" Carla shrieked. Then she turned away and sobbed.

Firuun carefully reached out a hand and turned her back around, and enfolded her in an embrace. She buried her face in his armor and wept. 

"Are we in canvameta?" Firuun asked. "The day after our wedding?"

"I don't think so," Carla said, leaning back. Firuun let go immediately, and she stepped away and wiped her face. "If canvameta is supposed to be our first argument, I think that can wait until we're not caught up in the aftermath of your brother's death. I wish, in Valen's name I wish I could have stopped him some other way. Except then you would have killed him, and that would be… well, not exactly wrong I guess. But sort of wrong."

Carla reached for Firuun again, and he stepped back, eyes wide, his stance going a little low and wide as if in anticipation of an attack. She had seen his posture shift like that during denn'bok sparring many times. 

"Firuun. Are you afraid of me?"

"Carla, I've always been careful to make sure you want to or at least agree before we make love. But you treat me like a giant sex toy. I've always thought it was alright because there was no possible way you could physically overpower me. I had to be careful but you didn't, because of the differences in our strength. But I'm not any stronger than my brother was." 

"You are. You're afraid. What's wrong with this picture? Why are you acting like you're the one who was raped?"

"Because you killed my brother!" Firuun stalked out of the cabin. He nearly called out, I'm going for a walk, the ritual canvameta phrase. But that belonged to a specific time of the ritual, and he had not even built the tent yet. And anyway, Carla was right; this was not the typical couple argument, and this was not the kind of thing canvameta was supposed to address. Maybe they did need to talk to Venmer. 

End of Chapter 30. Story continues in Chapter 31. 


	31. Chapter 31

Punch 31

"I've got to get off this ship." Firuun's eyes were wild, but his had the volume of his voice under control. 

The dalshon looked up from working the winch. "We've almost got the dinghy raised up. You can join the next group. A few other people said they might leave before lunch."

"I've got to get off this ship right now!"

"As you wish."

"Oh no, I've got to get into an even smaller boat. Closer to the water. Oh no, oh no, ohnonoohnoohno…" Firuun looked across the bay to the Whitestar parked on the hill. He wondered if there were any way he could be plucked off the deck of the Itma and hauled into the airlock. Probably that would be fairly simple, involving a rope and winch like the one the dalshon used for the dinghy. But then he would have to dangle over the water…

What a horrible way to die. Drowning. The air leaving the lungs. Choking. Like being in a space suit with its air pack used up. Black. Choking.

The dinghy was ready to be boarded. Firuun approached and took several deep breaths. How had he managed to get in the boat to come out to the Itma in the first place? Oh, yes. Carla had pulled him in. Carla had forced him into the boat. She always wanted what she wanted and to hell with Firuun's feelings. 

Well, he was going to have to get in the boat by himself this time if he ever wanted to get back on dry land. He turned around and got in the boat backwards so he would not see the ocean. He got settled and clipped out, "Alright, go. Get me out of here." He covered his eyes and did not look again until the dinghy pulled up to the dock. Then he ran all the way back to the starship.

He found a suitcase sitting on the ship's ramp. He brought it inside and stowed it in the boarding party ready room. The suit lockers. How had he ever put on a space suit again? 

He ran out of the room and down to main engineering. He sat down on an engine housing and recovered his breathing. He was safe now. Surrounded by lots of air in the big room, and the living walls of the most advanced type of ship left in the galaxy. And beyond that, more air. A whole planet full. 

Black. Choking. 

"Ship. Increase light level by twenty percent."

The Whitestar's walls glowed, and the illumination rose. There was plenty of light, and plenty of air. He was safe. 

Relief came to him at last. He breathed deep. He remembered this feeling of relief, of gratitude for being alive. Of gratitude to those who had saved him. Who had first tried to kill him. He remembered looking up at the ceiling, and at the humans, from inside the powered work suit. His helmet beside him. The face of a much younger Sheridan above him. Gratitude. 

He might have fixated on anyone in that moment, he was so flooded with relief, so glad to be alive. Well. And so Teshar was not one hundred percent wrong after all. Firuun's obsession was a little pathetic, at that. But it had turned out well. For everyone except Teshar. 

Drowning. What a horrible way to die. Water closing over him like the blackness of space. Black. Choking.

"Ship. Increase oxy content by 5." 

\

Carla emerged from the cabin in her Anla'shok uniform. She was not exactly mobbed, but there were a large number of people hanging around, all looking at her with big eyed expressions, some of sympathy and pity, and some of shock and fear. 

She supposed Firuun's reaction fell into the latter category. 'I'm not any stronger than my brother' he had said. Firuun was afraid of her. Gah. 

And what about her? What did she feel? She was not really sure. Maybe she should ask Nelonn what she was feeling. He probably knew. 

She caught his eye, and realized he and Venmer were not looking at her with that big eyed look. This was the kind of thing they dealt with in Venmer's work. Just an ordinary day at the office to them. 

"Well," Carla said. "Whatever else happens, I still need to eat lunch." 

She left the crowd behind and made her way to the buffet, where there was a group of people who had not felt the need to follow her to her cabin to see if she was going to fall apart or kill anybody else or maybe turn into a Vorlon and fly away. Ike and his press man were there, but apparently they already had enough pictures and footage of the alyt-killer Captain Punch, or maybe her Anla'shok uniform just wasn't as picturesque as the bikini. 

Carla got herself a small snack—her stomach still had only a small capacity—and asked, "So, how much ISN time did you get out of this, Ike?"

Ike grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Giving people heroes to look up to never hurt a political race yet."

The PR rep said, "They're replaying about a 30 second spot of Ike and you talking nearly every half hour or so. You can't buy this kind of publicity."

"I didn't come out here to use you, Carla. I brought him along to get pictures of Sheridan." 

"I know. I don't mind helping you out, Ike. I just… I don't know. Is the news saying why I killed him?"

"Not a word," Ike assured her.

"Then let's keep it that way. Although I've got to wonder what kind of hero you think people will think I am without knowing it was self-defense."

"Carla, people back on Earth won't care why. They'll be in two groups: those who figure Teshar needed killing because you're a Ranger, and those who assume Teshar needed killing because he's Minbari."

"Ike!" 

"I know, I know. That's exactly the kind of attitude I've been working against in the FPFP for all these years. But there are still people who think that way." 

"Yeah. I know." She looked around at the faces of the people nearby. Some of them had followed her from her cabin. Nelonn and Venmer were hanging out at the edge of the crowd, ready to help her if she asked. Ilienn was looking at her with worry, sort of half way between the pity and fear camps. Carla asked, "Where'd Firuun go, anyway?"

There was a pause. Khunnier made his way through the crowd. "He went back to the Whitestar. If you are ready to return, perhaps we could share a boat, and I will tell you my observations."

"Oh. Sure." Carla and Khunnier ended up sharing the boat with Nelonn and Venmer too. And a dalshon, but the old pirate minded his own business.

"Well, here we are. My de facto ship's counselor, and a real counselor, and his apprentice. What was it you didn't want to tell me in front of everyone?"

"I believe Firuun had a panic attack. When he left the Itma, he got into the dinghy backwards and kept his eyes closed. Just how afraid of the sea is he, Carla?"

"Oh. Oh, I didn't realize… well, most Minbari are afraid of the sea. Except for the dalshon, obviously. I didn't realize it was anything more." 

Venmer said, "You two could use a little help to get you past this crisis. We could come along with you. You have a relatively quiet patrol planned, do you not?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. Not as quiet as our last patrol corridor, but still the border between two allies. I guess that would be possible. But what about your other clients?"

"I am between projects at the moment. I tend to be called in when all else has failed. I've never been in the position of a first responder before. Mostly the families I counsel go back to their original workers and counselors when I'm done breaking apart the silence and fitting the puzzle pieces together." 

"Oh. Well, sure. Come along then."

For the first time that day, Nelonn smiled for a moment.

Carla found herself responding with good cheer. "Yes, you can enter the tournaments again."

Nelonn grinned briefly. "Are you sure you're not a telepath too?"

"Definitely not. And I don't see the future, either, but Venmer's description of his work sounds an awful lot like an intelligence operation. If you reach the end of your apprenticeship still wanting to be a Ranger, I think you're going to be a good one." 

"Thank you, Captain." The admiration in his voice was exactly the same as it had been the day before. 

Well, a hero, then. That was an OK thing to be. Much better than 'victim'. Ike was right about that. A hero's journey, that was a good way to tell one's personal story. Maybe she would choose to see today that way. 

End of Chapter 31. Story continues in Chapter 32. 


	32. Chapter 32

Punch 32

The image on the 2D viewer had that strange flattened-shadow quality that meant it was compressed from a 3D recording. It was a high-angle shot of a tall ship, white sails billowing in the breeze, the ocean glittering. Two tall ships, firing cannon at each other.

"What're you watching, Lise?"

"Captain Punch."

"I've never heard of that one. What's his super power?"

"She kills Minbari with her bare hands."

"Hell, I can do that. If I tie one up and leave him in an airlock and use my bare hand to press the open button." 

The image on the massive screen in their tastefully furnished—too tastefully for Garibaldi—living room zooming down on a kimono-clad woman wielding a denn'bok. "That doesn't look too realistic. Who coordinated the fight scene?" The kimono fell open to reveal a bikini underneath. "Got to hand it to the costume designer though. Nice."

"It is real. This is an ISN special."

"No way." The woman did have a little help from another female, a Minbari dressed in a bikini. But no human should be able to knock out five Minbari in a denn'bok fight. "Hell, Walker Smith probably couldn't even do that on his best day." 

"They said she killed alyt Teshar in unarmed combat. It's been all over the news. This is a special report using vid from her wedding recording, according to the announcer. Evidently that was part of the festivities." 

"So those guys aren't dead."

"No, I don't think so."

"What was it, girls versus boys? Who's this Teshar guy?"

"They weren't very detailed on that. A Windsword."

"Nasty bunch. More atrocities per capita than any other group of Minbari during the war. They're the ones who gave Deathwalker a safe haven and funded her research after the end of the Dilgar War. Lennier once told me the rest of the Minbari found out about that during the Earth-Minbari War, when the Windswords came forward with biological weapons. Weapons that were rejected because they were too slow-acting, and because they could have killed Minbari too if they'd gotten loose. We lucked out on that one." 

"What ever happened to Lennier?"

"Got me. Just up and disappeared one day, apparently. Probably just as well, that whole Lancelot and Guinevere thing never turns out well." 

Michael Garibaldi watched the scene cut away to an announcer sitting in front of pictures of Carla in her Anla'shok uniform, and a file photo of alyt Teshar at some kind of military ceremony, hulking over his troops. 

"Ah, nuts. She's a Ranger. And here I was thinking of hiring her for some security work. Oh, wait, that's what I have me for."

A commercial came on, and the system automatically muted it for them. Lise said, "I'm really just procrastinating. I've been thinking about that offer from Ambrose. Any advice?"

"Sure. Never put your money in a bank called Frenchy's. Never order the fish at a steak house, or the steak at a fish house, or either one at a pie house. And never butt heads with a Minbari." 

Lise smiled and shook her head. "I take it that means you have no opinion about Ambrose."

"Guy's clean. Too clean. Like a fake identity." He shrugged. "But hey, if Princess Whatsherface vouches for him, he must be legit." 

"Al-Saud. Alright, look into it. Your instincts have already uncovered a ton of messes in Edgars Industries."

"OK, hon, I'll get my shovel." 

End of Chapter 32. Story continues in Chapter 33. 


	33. Chapter 33

Punch 33

"Are you ready?" asked Carla.

"Why is that humans always ask that question before doing something stupid, suicidal, or terrifying?" Firuun replied.

Venmer headed off the change of subject. "We have been working towards this for a half a season. You have successfully identified your transference of fear of suffocating in space to fear of the sea, and retransferred it back to the origin. That is progress. Now we only need to desensitize you to your fear objects, and you will be back in prime fighting shape very soon." 

Firuun took a deep breath and opened the door to the boarding party ready room. The four of them went in: Carla, Firuun, Venmer, and Nelonn, who was now 16 and in the middle of a late growth spurt, showing signs he might someday rival his clan chief in height. 

Firuun opened his suit locker. Space armor was not as bulky as a powered work suit, and did not have the large jet pack on the back or the tool arm, but it was still a space suit. Today he was just going to look at it. Tomorrow he would put it on. And by the end of the week, if all went well, he would be taking a space walk, accompanied by Venmer and Nelonn and one of his junior engineers, who had EVA experience. 

There was a suitcase in the locker. "Oh! I completely forgot about this. I stowed this in here when I came aboard. It was on the ship's ramp. I meant to come back for it. But I got—I recoiled from the suit, and didn't remember what I had opened the locker for." 

Carla said, "Is that the stuff my mother left for me? I should have remembered it myself, she mentioned she had brought some stuff. I hope it didn't have cookies in it or anything. It's been in there a couple of months." 

"Let's find out," Firuun said. 

Carla pulled out the suitcase and set it on a bench. She popped the seals and opened it. The first thing she noticed was paper. But it was not a note from her mother. "This one is a customs form from Babylon 5. She must have transshipped through there. It says they removed fruit infested with fruit flies. Good thing they did, or it would have rotted in here by now. Yuck."

Carla picked up the other paper. "This one is from Minbari customs. In according with the War Trophies Act, section blah blah blah etc. etc., a 15 tax was assessed on war era items not in the possession of their original owner. Huh?"

Carla set the papers aside and dug into the suitcase. There was a blue dress on top, which would have gone nicely with her natural eyes. That was a message, no doubt. 

The next item was a flatpic album. Carla set it aside to look at later. It was probably full of old family photos. There was a package of data crystals, and then the flowered dress her mother had put her in when she was trying to kidnap her. "I think I'll burn this. No, it would be wasteful. Donate it to the poor." 

She pulled the flowered dress out and set it on the floor, and underneath was something olive green. Carla held it up. "In Valen's name, it's my uniform. I can't believe mom kept it all these years."

Carla held the shirt up to herself. The sergeant's stripes on the sleeve spoke to her of her old life lost. Which was probably the point. 

"It looks like it would fit," Firuun said. "Try it on."

"I don't know," Carla said. "She must have put this in here as a message. Remember who you are, and what you used to be. But I didn't leave them. They abandoned me, dammit. They kicked me out. It wasn't my choice." 

"As Venmer keeps saying," Firuun said with an evil grin, "we make our own meaning."

"OK," Carla said. "What I see is three messages: the blue dress means I should go back to my original eye color. The flowered dress means I'm crazy and ought to be in an adjustment center. The Gropo uniform means I ought to hate Minbari, not love one. What do you see?"

The what do I see/ what do you see exercise was one that Venmer had encouraged them to use, to get past their differing interpretations of Teshar's death, and various other miscommunications.

Firuun said, "Three new outfits to peel you out of." 

Carla looked down at her sergeant uniform. "Firuun, not this one. Maybe the dresses, but not this one. The associations would be a little too… a little too…" 

Carla glanced over at the audience. She could not believe they were discussing their sex life in front of Nelonn. But then, they already had, several times. It was an integral part of their relationship, and some days, seemed like a minefield. Step on the wrong memory and blow up. 

Firuun rumbled, "But you like some of those associations. My armor…"

"Always back to that old ground," Carla sighed. "Yes, I like your armor. But not nearly as much as you do. You just don't like being naked and vulnerable." 

"But you do." 

Venmer held up a hand, "Tone, tone. This is starting to sound a bit accusatory." 

Carla flung the Gropo uniform down on the suitcase in exasperation. "How can I not sound accusatory when he suggests it might be fun to pull a Marine uniform off of me? Like being raped on the battlefield. Which I was." 

"But you do like some of the same things like that," Firuun protested. "Some of the same things that terrify and traumatize when someone else does them, you like when I do them."

"That's true," Carla admitted. "We've been over that before. But this… it would be like erasing Captain Punch and being Sergeant Punch again."

"I thought you liked putting aside the responsibility of being Captain and just let yourself be pleased. Isn't that why you like being held down?"

"Oh God." She glanced at the audience again. She was sure she was blushing. "Is it? Because that would be a much more benign explanation than the other one. What Teshar said." 

The mention of Teshar prompted Firuun to close the suit locker and look away. He was probably thinking about drowning and suffocating again.

"Ah," Venmer leaned forward. "Now we are coming to the heart of things. Continue. What did Teshar say?"

Carla stuffed all the bric-a-brac back into the suitcase. "Is it a little sick that what he said bothers me more than what he did, after all this work these past couple of months?"

"Not at all," Venmer said. "Words have power. Speeches inspire, poetry can move one to tears, insults start fights. What did he say?"

Carla shook her head. "I can't talk about this in front of Nelonn. I'm sorry. It's just too adult." 

Firuun said, "And I don't want to have this discussion in the ready room."

Carla said, "We need a private place to talk. Not the ship's appendix, someplace just for talking. And arguing, if we have to."

Firuun said, "I think this is why the canvameta tent was invented."

Venmer said, "You are right. We have dealt with your old issues, both of you, and we will be finished with Firuun's phobia soon enough. At your next port of call, perhaps it is time for you two to go through the canvameta ritual. Where you can hash out all the things you are too embarrassed to speak of in front of your counselors." 

"Our next port of call will be Babylon 5," Carla said. "For resupply. Eight days from now."

"Then if things go well with the desensitization, that is where we shall part ways. Nelonn and I will go back to Minbar on commercial transport." 

"Yeah," Carla said. "I'll miss you two. But I won't be sad to see you go, because that will mean we're doing OK."

End of Chapter 33. Story continues in Chapter 34. 


	34. Chapter 34

Punch 34

The tent was white and silver. Every piece of it, from the decorations to the way the tent ropes were knotted, was steeped in tradition. Where to pitch it had been a puzzle, though. Not inside the ship; that would not provide the kind of privacy they needed, nor the ready access to a place to walk to gain new insights during the traditional head clearing walks. Not right outside the ship in the docking bay; station regulations would not allow it. 

They had tried to rent a hotel room for the canvameta nest, but there was some kind of convention going on, on the station. All the transients' facilities were booked by people wearing funny hats. 

So they had decided to pitch their tent in Downbelow, where they could simply claim a few square meters of floor by intimidating anyone who wanted to take it away from them. So now they were standing in the customs line to get onto the station.

"I'm glad we'll be able to buy all the materials here," said Firuun. "I know everything is available because I shopped for building one here once before. To help out John."

"Yeah," Carla said, "if we had to divert back to Minbari space to pick up the supplies it would be kind of annoying. And I don't think I'd really want to explain to the customs guys why I need a hundred feet of rope and hammer."

They arrived at customs. Zack Allen himself greeted them. "Captain Carla Punch. Any plans for your stay? Bar fights, mayhem, murder? I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Too bad yours can't come out and ride along in a pocket."

"My eyes are in the ceiling." 

Mr. Allen barely glanced at Firuun's identity documents before he passed him along. He clearly thought that Carla was trouble, and the giant warrior really wasn't. 

Carla and Firuun went shopping. Some of the items they were after came from the Zocalo, but most of them came from a less fancy area of the station. The average run of Zocalo shoppers were not after lumber and tent material. 

Firuun was trundling a hand-cart of lumber and heavy fabric, while Carla had a coil of rope over her shoulder, when they ran into Vir. 

"Carla, nice to see you. I've been watching your specials on ISN, it's great to know everything came out alright for you."

"It did, thank you, Vir."

Vir eyed the rope. "Though that's a bit, uh, unexpected. Of all the couples I would suspect might be into that, you two, I would never have thought of. Well, that's none of my business, of course, it's just that, wfff, there it is right there, you know, and, well… Anyway I saw that fight with the pirates they were showing, very impressive." 

"Yeah, I saw what ISN did with my wedding video. A copy was given to all of the guests, someone must have supplied it to them. I'm guessing Ike's press man. But who knows." 

"Right, oh, be seeing you then." Vir did not wave; he reserved that gesture for enemies now, since he had waved at Morden's head on a stick. 

Carla and Firuun descended into the bowels of Babylon 5 and set up their tent. Its clean white newness contrasted sharply with the dinginess of Brown Sector. They strewed pillows inside, tossed in a blanket, and got into their nest.

"Well, here we are," Carla said. "A perfect site for arguing without having the crew overhear us. Only, we've actually gotten along pretty well today, cooperating in this tent pitching project." 

"We don't have to argue all the time we're in here," Firuun said. "We're supposed to work out our couple problems. Cooperating is probably a better idea than arguing."

"I suppose so." 

"Let's get one thing out of the way," Firuun said. "You weren't actually attracted to me in the first place just because I'm a big scary Minbari, were you?"

She laughed. "No, no. That was an obstacle."

"Well then. I always thought we connected first on a mental level, or a soul level, at least from my perspective."

"Me too, I guess." She grinned. "If you can call a mutual love of bar fighting a mental level." 

"It's been a long time since then."

"A long time, and a lot of really terrible experiences. Sometimes I really do wonder if I'm sane." 

"Me too. Wonder if I'm sane, I mean, not if you are. I mean, for twenty years I was fine with the memory of nearly dying alone out there in the black, and then my brother dies and suddenly I have a problem. And I am so sorry I wasn't there for you right after. I was just too scared."

"You know, I think all the talks we've had with Venmer and Nelonn have really changed you. You didn't used to talk about your feelings much." 

"Is that good or bad?"

"I'm not sure. I loved you just the way you were before. But if we're going to succeed as a couple we do have to work stuff out, and you and I have more to work out than the average couple. So I guess we'll both have to be more open about our feelings than we'd like to. God, I want a beer." 

Firuun's face lit, and he rummaged in his satchel and produced a tiny bottle of beer, perhaps 4 ounces. 

"Mini beer," Carla said. She popped it on the edge of a wooden tent support structure and took a swig. "It's good."

"Little Carla-sized portions," Firuun said.

"It's great, Firuun. Did you get this here on the station?" At his nod, Carla said wryly, "Well, I've got to practice my Ranger vigilance more, then. I didn't notice you sneaking another purchase in." 

Carla finished her beer and set the bottle near the tent flap for later disposal. 

"Firuun, what did you give up, in the lead-up to the ceremony?"

"I gave up that little nagging thought I'd had at the back of my mind since before my first marriage, wondering if I could ever get back together with my first love. The Star Rider girl that the Windsword clan chief at the time would not let me marry. I looked her up. I expected to find that she had married someone else, had lots of kids, and was either a happy, contented old wife or a bitter old widow by now. She joined the religious caste and became one of the Sisters of Valeria." 

"She became a nun?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"What did you give up?"

"My humanity." 

Silenced stretched out. When they finally started talking again, they got down to the business of working out their relationship. They talked, ate and drank, slept. They tackled all the important subjects: their insecurities, sex, their cultural differences, sex, the war, sex, their families, sex, recent events, sex, how all those things relate to sex, and so on. 

When they finally fell into the predictable argument, it was not over Teshar, or sex, or how to relate as a married couple while one of them was also the Captain of their ship, or any of the serious topics they had been dealing with. It was over a blanket. Specifically, which one of them was a blanket hog.

They started a tug-of-war with the blanket, shouting, and then Carla made a gesture toward her denn'bok. 

"I'm going for a walk!" Firuun boomed.

"Me too!"

They climbed out of the canvameta nest and headed off in opposite directions. 

Carla went down one level and stalked along, fuming, wondering how they could discuss such barbed subjects as piracy, war crimes, and a hundred horrible ways to die, all so reasonably, and then get into a shouting match over a blanket. It was stupid. 

Well, it was canvameta. All the anxiety of the serious topics must have boiled over into the silly blanket fight. She was still furious, but she had enough distance now to realize she was not mad about a blanket. 

What had they been discussing just before they got into the tug-of-war? Whatever it was, that must be what she was really angry about. 

Carla had been thinking so hard, she was not really paying that much attention to where she was going. So she was surprised when a scruffy human stepped into her path.

He pulled a knife. "Give me all your money, lady. And the jewelry."

Jewelry? He was trying to mug her for her Anla'shok badge? "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." 

He waved the knife in what he clearly hoped was a threatening manner.

Carla laughed. Her denn'bok was a part of her. She did not even remember extending it, it was just there, in her hands. She pivoted and brought the full power of the twisting movement down on the knifeman's hand, and the knife went skittering away over the deckplates. 

The mugger yelled and clutched his broken hand.

The bloodlust was on her again. She needed release, and Firuun was not here. Kill-release was readily available, though.

Carla swung her Pike again and connected with the side of the robber's head. He hit the floor with a thump.

Carla did not check to see if he was dead or just knocked out. She did not want to know, because if he was alive she was afraid she would be unable to resist the temptation to finish him off. 

She just left him lying there. No one in Downbelow was going to run to security over a mugger, who had probably been preying on everyone on this level. And if they did, well, it was a clear case of self-defense. And anyway, she was a Ranger. And that did count for something, despite Mr. Allen's efforts to pretend otherwise. 

"Gah. You probably thought I looked like a good mark, didn't you? A small grey haired woman, alone, not walking warily enough. Looked like easy pickings, didn't I?" 

She touched her Ranger pin. "Well, I'm not."

She resisted the urge to shout to the poor and downtrodden to come get back whatever he had robbed them of. It was not the sheep who would come to feast on the dead wolf, but the carrion crows. 

She headed back to the tent. 

End of Chapter 34. Story continues in Chapter 35. 


	35. Chapter 35

Punch 35

Zack Allen handed back the ID chit. "Mr. Bester. You're out of uniform."

Bester gestured to his civilian suit, which was not PsiCop black but banker blue, and so conservative that it could have passed as business wear at any time in the last 500 years. It did not have the metallic lapel tips of modern suits, and so there was nothing to glint from the shadows if one was trying to remain unnoticed. "These are all the rage on Mars these days."

"What's your business on Babylon 5?"

"As you yourself observed, I am a civilian now. The PsiCorps is finished, our power broken. No doubt you mundanes will rejoice… until the rogues start taking over, and you realize how much you needed us. So how could I possibly have business here? I am here on pleasure."

"Right. And I'll be keeping on eye on you."

Bester nodded in mock politeness and went on his way.

Zack linked in and told the security crewer on duty, "Realocate surveillance resources. Capt. Punch is no longer our priority. Keep track of Alfred Bester."

Firuun walked along in Downbelow, wondering if he was doing the ritual right. He was on the traditional head-clearing walk, but the excuse for it had been flimsy. They had had a dozen better arguments before building the canvameta nest.

The one they had right after Teshar's death had been the real one. Venmer and Nelonn had helped them a lot, and Firuun was not really sure they were even still in canvameta anymore. Maybe they should have done the ritual right after that first argument. But he just had not wanted to believe they could be in canvameta the day after their wedding. He had so wanted a happy interlude first. But they had done their relationship all out of order from the rituals anyway, becoming a couple long before they started even the first of the courting rituals. Their real honeymoon had been from the time they started making love until they started the courtship. It would make sense that canvameta might begin right after the wedding.

Firuun was not paying any more attention to his surroundings than Carla was at that moment, but no one was marking his inattention as a sign of easy pickings. Firuun's height stood out even among humans, and combined with the stockiness of a Minbari warrior, he was more physically imposing than the clay-faced alien bouncer in front of the Dark Star.

Firuun paused a moment when he saw the name of the seedy club. The sign was mostly lit up in neon, but with a few malfunctions. For a moment he had thought it said Black Star. He realized his mistake at once, but the name was still uncomfortably close.

"Well. On a canvameta walk I'm supposed to go where the signs point me," Firuun rumbled to himself. He walked into the bar.

This, he decided, was exactly the kind of place Carla would like to get into a bar fight in. Lots of people of different species, in a setting run down enough so that the bill for broken furniture and crockery would not run too high. There was a pulse beat underneath it all that had nothing to do with the music. He would bring her here later, after the canvameta ritual.

Firuun went to the bar and eased down onto a barstool. A dark haired human in a blue suit, whose feet dangled a good half meter above his stool, turned to Firuun and said, "Finally. I was starting to think you weren't coming."

Who could possibly mistake Firuun for an acquaintance? Giant Minbari did not, as humans say 'grow on trees'. Firuun decided to play along. "Traffic was an itch," he boomed.

"What? Oh. English colloquialisms are difficult to master, Teshar."

So that was the answer. Giant Minbari did, in fact, grow on trees. Family trees.

"Haven't you seen ISN lately?"

"I have. I thought your original plan to fake your own death was much more believable. A human female killing you in hand to hand combat? It's preposterous. I would have stuck with the pirate angle myself. But that is, as we say, neither here nor there. Have you got the goods?"

"Of course."

"Not with you, I can see. You know, keeping the cargo in a 'safe place' is not very effective against a powerful telepath. If I wanted to I could just peek in and find out where you've put it. But, I am still a son of the Corps. So I will not do so. Unless absolutely necessary."

"Many human telepaths find it difficult to read Minbari minds."

"True. I may only be bluffing. It's possible I can't read you at all. But then again, maybe I can."

"And what have you brought me?"

Bester placed a small leather folder on the bar. "It's all there. Access codes to multiple accounts. The money is already transferred in. But there will be a hold lock on it until I receive the goods and test it for quality. I want the pure stuff, you understand. Pharmaceutical grade, suitable for laboratory use. None of that stepped on street Dream that's floating all over Mars these days."

Firuun had to hold his breath for a moment at this revelation. Then he nodded and took the wallet. "Do you want it delivered, or would you like me to lead you to it?"

"Delivery in space, as we agreed. Are you going senile? First the radical change of plan in the identity game, and now… Or are you Teshar at all?"

Firuun slid off the bar stool and backed up a step, his hand flexing in preparation for drawing his Pike if he needed it.

"You're not. You're the other one, the brother."

"And you're a dead man if you don't stick to the agreement. Teshar is really dead, you idiot. Yes, I'm Teshar's brother, Firuun. Do you know how hard it was to figure out what Teshar was up to and get here in time? He didn't leave any convenient notes."

"Keep your voice down. You're attracting attention."

"We can talk here or out there somewhere. I don't care, but I need more information."

"Alright. Seeing as how you already have my account information—which will not turn into real, accessible money until I am safely back on my ship with the merchandise."

The two of them left the bar and walked along until they reached a deserted spot. Firuun stopped walking, and turned to the short human. "Start with the delivery specifications."

Bester outlined a plan for a space rendezvous and a transfer outside of anyone's jurisdiction.

Firuun nodded. "That can be done. If you're sure your ship can mate with ours."

"Teshar took care of that already. He assured me the Donn'li has a universal transfer tube."

The Donn'li was Dilis's ship. Firuun had not inquired too closely about her backers, or anything else about her factory operations, for security reasons. Now he knew where at least some of her startup capital was coming from. Or, least who the middleman was. Was some vestige of PsiCorp behind this? The PsiCorps was officially closed now, but it had been powerful and unaccountable, and if one dismantled the castle, the bedrock still remained.

"It does," Firuun assured him.

He had started out leading Bester on in the hope of uncovering criminal activity and arresting him, a coup for the Anla'shok. But now he was going to have to talk to Dilis before he decided anything. Manufacturing and selling loritril was as abhorrent as selling slaves. Because loritril made slaves. It was morally equivalent. But the survival of an entire planet was at stake.

He was going to talk to Dilis second. And then Carla. And oh, he imagined they were going to have something to argue about in the canvameta tent when he got back. But first there was Bester.

"Why do you want this stuff, anyway?" Firuun asked. "And how did you ever convince Dilis to manufacture it?"

"She didn't tell you? It was her idea. A long shot, perhaps, but a risk worth taking for the potential rewards. She discovered that the drug could switch on the latent telepath gene, if given at a critical stage of adolescence. Of course, so far it is only proven to work on Minbari. But Minbari and humans are remarkably similar in genetic structure."

"I see. So. When and where?"

End of Chapter 35. Story continues in Chapter 36.


	36. Chapter 36

Punch 36

Carla and Firuun were nested together in the canvameta tent. Carla curled up around herself, and Firuun snugged up to her back, a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Of all the things Dilis could get involved in to fund her factory. Why loritril?"

Firuun sighed. "We'll ask her when we find her. I reached the Donn'li but she was not aboard. I gave them the rendezvous co-ordinates. So far the deal is on. But the Donn'li's captain told me there was unrest on the source planet. Dilis never made it to the ship and they had to leave without her to make it to their target holding system on time to be given the drop location."

"Unrest. The sort of unrest that would benefit from the attention of a Whitestar and a commando team?"

"I don't know."

"Then perhaps we should start with a straight intelligence operation. Send in Khunnier."

"He'd love that. I think he's bored to death sitting endless bridge watches."

"Yeah, life with the Rangers isn't nearly as exciting when there's all this peace getting all over everything."

"And what about the deal? We could still show up and arrest everyone involved for smuggling."

"We could. And then it would look like Dilis is a pawn, and it would be very hard for her to make any other deals with the underworld. And that's what we're stuck with if we want to keep this off the radar. We've got to assume the enemy is spying on all the legitimate governments of the Alliance."

"They might be spying on the underworld too," Firuun said. "But I think you're right. This is the best chance to accomplish the mission."

"The mission. We're talking about the annihilation of an entire planet. Can a race survive without its homeworld? Is this our end?"

"It's a tough decision," Firuun said. "To stick to our morals and let a whole race die, or sacrifice a few strangers for the good of everyone."

"It's no decision at all," Carla said. "Not when you put it that way. But it's not my decision to make. I have a lot of leeway in where I go and what I do as a Ranger captain. Turning a blind eye to smuggling is more the rule than not, since we're primarily an intelligence organization rather than a law enforcement one. But not this."

Carla turned over in the nest, inching back so she could see Firuun, and fidgeting with the scattered pillows.

She lowered her voice, wondering if anyone outside the tent might be able to hear them. "Who knows what that son of the PsiCorp is going to do with the stuff. Experiment on homeless people, probably. If all he was planning was to help people turn on their telepathic talents, that might even qualify as a humanitarian goal if it was done right. But I've heard of Bester, from people here on this station. He was a PsiCop, and a jackbooted fascist, and a new suit doesn't change anything. I'm picturing a whole bonded army of lab-made telepaths ready to tear society's throat out on his orders. A telepath war."

"So what are you going to do?" Firuun whispered, following suit with lowering the volume.

"I think I need to talk to Entilza Delenn."

"Shall we head back to the ship, then? We can send a message and then see about getting Khunnier out to the source world. Send him on commercial transport, probably, since nothing says 'the Anla'shok is watching' like a Whitestar coming out of a jump gate. It would not be a good start to an undercover operation. Besides, the source planet is not in Alliance space. A Whitestar showing up could start a war."

Carla nodded. "Send him, yes. Commercial transport is a good idea. But I need to talk to Entilza in person. This kind of discussion should not be handled over a comm call, even encrypted and scrambled."

Firuun nodded. "I'll have the ship scheduled for departure." He brought out his commlink. "If we have a few hours, how about a recreational bar fight? I saw a good spot when I was walking around earlier. I think we could both use some stress relief."

Carla chuckled. "Sure. Make the departure arrangements. With the lag in docking they have around here, it probably won't be until tomorrow anyway."

Firuun made the arrangements with C and C, and as Carla predicted, they got a departure slot at 2am the following morning. So they went to the Dark Star, and Carla failed to get drunk before her stomach got full, but she tried to pick a fight anyway. There were no takers. Either the presence of the giant Minbari warrior dissuaded them, or they recognized her from ISN. Or they just didn't feel like it, Carla was not sure which.

So she and Firuun went back to their tent one last time before abandoning it to the dwellers in Downbelow. Not to do any talking. Canvameta was over. But Carla had gotten worked up for a fight and had not gotten one, and she needed release. And this time, Firuun was there.

End of Chapter 36. Story continues in Chapter 37.


	37. Chapter 37

Punch 37

From space, the planet did not look inviting. It was a swirl of misty peach, without any oceans at all, and did not look habitable to human eyes. Or, Carla reflected, bionic eyes attached to a human brain.

"Entilza will see you the day after tomorrow," said an officious person in a gold religious caste robe. "In the meantime, you are invited to enjoy the hospitality of the D'Ser Hotel, the city of Rishaa, and the planet Rulomo. Welcome, Anla'shok Captain Punch, and Imbalo Clan Chief Firuun. A suite has been provided for you. Quarters for your crew have been provided at the Tan Estate, and they have been given grounds passes for the sports complex."

Carla raised an eyebrow. "That sounds fancier than the usual Ranger accommodations."

The official said diffidently, "This hospitality is provided by the colonial government of Rulomo, in honor of the famous Captain Punch and remembrance of obligations past, to redress lost opportunities to provide welcome and hospitality, and in honor of the Windsword clan chief, who honors us by his presence, and the hope that he will accept an invitation to join Governor Kulin at the gentlemen's club tomorrow evening."

Carla and Firuun exchanged glances. Firuun rumbled, "He probably wants to discuss clan business of some kind."

"Go, by all means," Carla said. "I knew we were going to have to wait to fit into Entilza's schedule, so I brought along that suitcase to go through again. I'm planning to look at the photo album."

"Oh? And the dresses too?"

"Stop leering. That's tomorrow night."

Carla and Firuun laughed. Firuun said, "Tell the Governor I accept."

The official handed them tastefully understated fobs with room key chits in their ends, and they made their way to their suite. It was an airy grouping of interconnected rooms with archways between them instead of doors, and a grand view of the pastel mists wreathing the landscape below.

"No planet has mists like Rulomo," Carla said.

"What did he mean by missed opportunities? It sounded like you'd been here before."

"I have. In the war. Rulomo is right on the edge of Minbari space. Earth tried a massive invasion here, as a counterstrike to something or other, I forget what now. But those mists are so distinctive, and so very easy to copy with special effects, that Earth drama producers have used them as backdrops just like that view out there for nearly every bad fictional film about the Earth-Minbari war that's ever been made, from bad shootemup war movies to bad tragic love stories. It's one of the most iconic images of the war for us. Right up there with your armor and those war cruisers that look like puffer fish. The actual battle of Rulomo was an unmitigated disaster. And it only lasted a couple of days. But the amount of movie time that's been devoted to it, it would have had to last for weeks to fit it all in."

"Huh. Were you, um…"

"This is not where I was captured, no. This is where I made corporal, actually. By virtue of being alive when all the corporals died."

Firuun looked away uncomfortably, and went to survey the rooms. "There's a huge bathroom in here," Firuun called. "Complete with huge bath. Ooh, what does this do." A rumbling sound, quickly cut off, gave evidence of Firuun pushing buttons on the spa. He explored the rest of the suite, and went out onto the balcony.

Rulomo was truly beautiful. Parkland, forest, and the white spikes of architecture meant to mimic the crystalline structures of cities on Minbar all softened in the peach mist into a dream of perpetual sunset. Waterfalls cascaded everywhere.

"Hey Firuun," Carla called from indoors, sounding uncharacteristically coquettish. "Guess what."

"What?"

"I feel like having a fight."

"About what?

"Nothing. I just feeling like fighting. And the make up sex is going to be great."

Firuun came back inside and stopped in his tracks. His jaw dropped.

Carla stood in the middle of the large, spare central room. She had her denn'bok in her hands. And she was wearing her Gropo uniform.

"I seem to recall you said you wanted to peel me out of this."

Firuun pulled at his collar and purred, "Are you sure about this?"

"Let's make our own dirty movie."

Firuun took a step forward and then said, "Wait, you're not actually recording this, are you?"

Carla laughed. "I'm pretty sure the hotel already is, so why not? Yeah, that's a surveillance device up in the chandelier. Don't look! We were taught to recognize them in Anla'shok training."

"Uh…"

"Oh, just let go and live in the moment. Don't worry about the surveillance. We're married. They can't blackmail us with this. And don't worry about anything else, either."

"You're trying to distract me from worrying about Dilis?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes." Firuun grinned and pulled his own denn'bok. They had sparred many times. In fact, Firuun had been her first teacher in denn'bok fighting. So they fell into a circling Pike dance easily, testing each other's defenses, poking at each other, thwacking Pike on Pike, shuffling forward and back, sidestepping. That phase lasted less than a minute.

Carla went on the attack first, double-feinting with an oblique strike followed by a center push, and then choking up on the Pike like a baseball bat and swinging for the kneecaps. Even a thick-skeletoned Minbari warrior like Firuun would have been seriously hurt by that attack if it had connected, but Firuun caught the blow on his own denn'bok and riposted as if the blunt poles were epees.

Carla spun and let Firuun's momentum carry him off balance, a rare tai chi move for her. Then she went for a lever-strike at the back in the place where a human would have a kidney. It was not a particularly vulnerable spot on a Minbari. She knew that now, but she had not known that the first time she was on Rulomo.

Firuun shrugged off the blow and turned, and made as if to strike at the head, leading Carla to raise her arms. Then he dropped his denn'bok, ducked his hands under her guard and grabbed her wrists.

She caught her breath. Even completely out of context in a denn'bok fight, she still found it erotic when Firuun took her by the wrists. One second ago she had been all fight, and now she was as docile as a stray cat in a trap.

They stood like that for a moment, looking into each other's dilated eyes. They were not just breathing hard from the exercise.

Then Firuun let go with one hand long enough to pull Carla's denn'bok out of her grasp. He let it fall to the floor, but that also gave her an opening to restart the fight, and she went for the throat.

Firuun caught her hand. "Careful, Carla, you don't want to win, do you?" He took both wrists in one hand and tore the Gropo uniform shirt off of her. Sergeant's stripes flashed as the green cloth fell to the ground. Then he muffled her struggles with a bear-hug. He bore her to the floor and ripped away the rest of her old uniform.

Just like their first time in the ship's appendix, Firuun stayed in his armor, performing his hat trick and then holding her wrists above her head, which at his height was the perfect shoulder position for push-ups.

Their first fun was intense and fast. Then Firuun decided to play with one of the denn'boks lying ready to hand. Carla had a flash of fear, remembering the Centauri pirates. But then she relaxed, because it was Firuun, and everything he did was exciting. And everything he was, was exciting. And hers.

And they were just getting started.

End of Chapter 37. Story continues in Chapter 38.


	38. Chapter 38

Punch 38

They both woke from catnaps and stretched lazily. Carla turned on her side, groaning, "Oh, my hip."

"We would not have done this before canvameta," Firuun said. "I'm going to be a big believer in rituals from now on."

Carla chuckled. "I'm so glad we got to really talk about sex, away from the crew, after Venmer's counseling. Venmer said the only dirty word is 'should'. What I should feel, what I should like, what I should not want. I accept myself the way I am now. As you always have."

Firuun coughed and sat up. "There's a perfectly good sleeping platform in that room over there."

They stood up, and Carla stumbled, getting her hip straightened out.

Firuun caught her around the shoulders. "Want me to carry you?"

"No, let me see if it'll go back into place." There was an odd thunk like the sound of a ripe watermelon. "There!" She sighed and walked slowly, with Firuun's help, and soon straightened up and walked normally. "I love you, Firuun."

"I love you too, Carla." He helped her up onto the platform and they settled in for the night.

The next day they went sightseeing. The city of Rishaa boasted parks full of sculpture and water features, architecture reminiscent of Minbar's crystal structures but made of some ordinary frame structures covered with white stucco, and perfectly manicured outdoor sports fields. A human city like this one would have been filled with museums, art galleries, and gift shops, but that was not the Minbari way. Instead it had temples and memorials.

"It looks just like nothing ever happened here," said Firuun as they stood looking at a fountain with statues of wildlife in the middle of it, which looked very old and weathered but not damaged in any way, like most of the public art.

"Nothing did," Carla said. "The battle was about 300 clicks over that way." She jerked her chin to indicate planetary north. "In what used to be the capitol city, Li'dookh. I checked the local infonet when we were coming in. Li'dookh isn't on the map anymore. Instead it says Tilaa Park."

"Memory song park," Firuun said. "Do you want to see it?"

"A Minbari war memorial? Think I'll skip it. OK, I admit I'm a little curious what it looks like now. Maybe we can find a picture of it sometime. You know, that's exactly where I would be heading if I were still traveling around with the FPFP. But I've finally learned to live in the moment. Let's find someplace nice for lunch."

The two of them walked toward the edge of the park, toward the commercial buildings on the street. On the way out of the gardens, they passed through an avenue of stone walls with square, glassless windows in them, framing views of the trees and statuary. They passed a group of Minbari warriors that they did not know, and the warriors pasted themselves flat to the walls to let Carla pass.

"They don't even do that for me," said an amused female voice.

Carla turned. "Entilza Delenn."

The three exchanged polite Minbari bows of greeting.

Delenn said, "I can only endure Governor Kulin's meetings for so long. He's a dreadful bore, you know. That's why he invites all his male visitors to the gentlemen's club, to keep them awake."

Carla and Firuun smiled. But then they remembered why there were here, and the smiles faded.

Delenn said, "I'm sure your husband can find something to do in this lovely city. I believe you wished a private conversation."

"Yes."

"Follow me."

Delenn had an aircar waiting. It whisked them off to a temple complex outside the city, which bore a striking resemblance to the Potala Palace on Earth, in Tibet. Except, with lavender mist in the background, in the shadows, and golden peach mist rising from the sunlit valley up the hill.

On the way, Delenn asked, "How are you doing? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Entilza. Venmer helped me a lot. Helped us."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They walked through a cramped structure with low ceilings, hung with tapestries, and emerged in a garden with a grand vista of the mists all around, and the city of Rishaa in the distance like the white teeth of a fossil behemoth.

"This place is as secure as we can make it," Delenn said. "The grounds are swept for listening devices before and after every visit. And there is a natural interference harmonic produced by the placement of the crystals on the plinths. Now, what is so secret it could not be trusted to a Whitestar's comm system?"

"I should begin with the time travel."

Delenn's composure cracked for just an instant, her eyes going wide. "The past or the future? Where did you go? What changed?"

"No, they came here. Technomages. From the future. A future in which the Drakh wiped out all life on Earth."

Delenn's eyes gathered tears, which stood in her eyes unshed, and reflected the light from the crystalline antisurveillance artworks. "Ah. Of course. Go on." Delenn did not look the least bit surprised about this. Sad, but not surprised.

"And Firuun's daughter Dilis came back with them. The now Dilis met herself. Entilza, how much do you know about the Windswords and the Dilgar War?"

"I know there were rumors that the Windsword clan intentionally threw a battle in order to spare the lives of some Dilgar at the end, when they were the last of their race. It seemed preposterous at the time, totally out of keeping with the character of the Windswords. A rumor which turned out to be true, eventually. In the middle of the Earth-Minbari war, the Windswords came to the Grey Council to offer biological weapons. Weapons developed by Deathwalker. They revealed to us that they had been sponsoring her research."

"More than that. They gave themselves over to her to use in a selective breeding program. Which turned out to be about as successful as the Dilgar War was for the Dilgar. But it did produce one great scientist. Firuun's daughter Dilis was actually named after the Dilgar. And after her real mother died, she fastened on Jador as a mother figure. She learned all about Jador's biowarfare plague. And that Jador did not invent it. It's Shadow technology."

"The Shadows. They were behind the Dilgar War? But they were still in hibernation then."

"I gather that Jador found the technology somewhere. The disease, and the cure. Dilis still has both. When the Windswords eventually kicked Jador out as a failure, she took her anti-agapic with her, but the Windswords kept her biological weapons. And in the future, when the Drakh plague infects Earth, the future Dilis recognized it, when she finally got a sample. Earth was quarantined, so getting a sample to examine was not easy. And she realized she had the cure. But only enough for a few people. It was a laboratory failsafe, meant for the researchers to use on themselves in case of an accident."

"And so she came back in time," Delenn said. "To tell her past self to start making enough of the cure to save everyone. Part of that I knew already. John was there when the Technomage, Galen, came back from the future."

"Oh. Right. I forgot about that. I was unconscious at the time. Khunnier filled me in later."

"So all that is the background," Delenn concluded. "What has happened now?"

"Dilis has gotten involved in drug dealing to fund her cure factory. With some kind of Psi Corps survival organization. And she's missing. I sent Khunnier to find her, and find out about the unrest that's going on where she is. And if she's involved in that in some way. She's trying to save the Earth, but she grew up learning scientific protocol, and I'm afraid probably her moral standards too, from Deathwalker. I'm afraid we might be on the wrong end of morality if we rescue her. She might have been experimenting on the local population. But we'd save her anyway, of course. She's Firuun's daughter. Not to mention the only hope for the survival of the Earth. We'll have to do that as discretely as possible, though. The point of placing the factories outside Alliance space and funding them through the underground economy was to keep the Drakh from realizing they have anything to do with the Alliance. To keep the enemy unaware of them until the cure is ready to deploy. It's a secret arms race, in its way."

"Yes," Delenn said, nodding. "A covert operation. Khunnier is a good choice as an advance scout. This is a job for the Anla'shok in their oldest capacity, without Whitestars or uniforms. And you are a bit too recognizable. I will assemble a strike force. All human, I think. They would pass as mercenaries or robbers more easily than a mixed group. You will coordinate, and be ready to assist the team when they extract. But keep your ship in Alliance territory."

"Yes, Entilza. But there is just one more thing. A dilemma."

"What is it?"

"The drug. It's loritril. She's manufacturing loritril. And selling it on the black market."

Delenn blinked, and the tears standing in her eyes ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away as she walked a little way toward one of the plinths, gazing at it as if using its beauty as a meditation.

Delenn said, "And so you come to me. Because you know exactly how devastating that drug can be. But street users have a very different experience from yours."

"There won't be any street users. Unless they're also funding their research by dealing. The Psi Corps still exists and it still has the same goals, it's just gone underground. I talked this over with Khunnier, and he thinks they're hoping to find a way to solve the problem of having two different human races, in which one will always be a distrusted minority, by turning everybody into telepaths."

"It makes sense," Delenn said. "But I don't understand the connection."

"Nelonn. His telepathic gift was turned on by exposure to street Dream. Bester hopes to find a controlled way to duplicate it in the lab. With humans, obviously."

"Bester? Not the same Bester we used to have to put up with on Babylon 5 sometimes?"

"The same."

"That is bad. He is not to be trusted."

"The exchange is about to happen. But it could still be called off. If you decide to. But blowing the deal would risk exposing Dilis's factory, and ruining the chances of funding it clandestinely. If the Drakh find out about it, and destroy the cure, it's the end of all life on Earth."

"A moral quandary indeed," Delenn said. "And one I have faced before. Allow terrible things to happen to a few people, or allow instead the total destruction of the human race. The choice is clear, and it is the same one I made before. Save the Earth."

End of Chapter 38. Story continues in Chapter 39.


	39. Chapter 39

Punch 39

"It's a Minbari," said the first human, an odd mix of menace and amusement in his voice.

"Long way from home, bonehead," grated the second human with a trace of an accent, uniformed like the first in the blue with yellow piping of Earth Alliance Transportation Safety.

Khunnier kept his eyes downcast. Technically, a Ranger could pull rank on local forces, and his undercover assignment did not become truly covert until he arrived outside Interstellar Alliance space. For now he was only supposed to be discrete. But it was his Anla'shok badge that had landed him here, and no one seemed inclined to respect it. There was legality, and then there was, as the humans say, 'might makes right'.

"Let's see what we've got here," said the first human. He had retrieved Khunnier's valise from the cargo hold, and he popped up the lid of the case.

"I have no access to my salesman samples in Earth space," Khunnier put in quickly. "It was carted over to my connecting flight by the port cargo handlers."

"Samples, huh." The first human dug around in the case, finding an array of surveillance and security equipment packed in a change of clothes. He did not bat an eye at the long-ears or spy-eyes, but he whistled as he pulled out Khunnier's denn'bok. "This here is a weapon."

"It is not illegal at either my point of origin or destination," Khunnier said in as mild a tone as he could manage. The mens' voices, their body language, their word choice, all screamed hatred to Khunnier's finely honed skills at understanding people. Worse, the first one seemed to be enjoying himself.

Khunnier would not have had a problem facing such men in a bar fight—from the rear, with the Captain and Firuun in front. And about a dozen other members of the crew. He was past nervous and into scared now. He was ashamed of his fear, and wondered how he could have gotten through the space and street battles in which he had fought without getting this afraid. But he supplied his own answer at once: here, he was alone.

"Still a weapon. Unless you're going to tell me it's a sex toy. Tell you what, I'll let you keep it if you demonstrate, sissy boy." This was accompanied by the human pressing so close to Khunnier that the small Minbari stepped back.

Khunnier's usually well-ordered mind was a jumble of panicked thoughts. 'I should have stayed in the Temple' was only fleeting, but it brought more shame with it. He had never before doubted his vocation to the Rangers, even for a second. A more practical 'What would the Captain do?, which usually helped him get through a combat situation, instead produced the ugly thought, 'the Captain would get raped, that's what she would do.'

Khunnier held out a shaking hand. To hell with discrete. He was going to take his Pike and show these men what it was used for. They'd be sorry their race ever invented the metal detector.

"Ho ho, he's really gonna do it!" gloated the first human.

"You dummkopf," said the second human, snatching the denn'bok from the first one's hand. "Don't hand him a freaking weapon. Who's the real bonehead around here?" He made a gesture behind his head of fingers pointing up like head bone spikes.

"Come on, we was gonna get a free show!"

"Minbari don't have varmerbruders, sveinhunt. He was going to break your ugly mug."

"What, him? That little guy?" the first human laughed. "He's smaller than my girl. Bet he makes the same kind of sound when he hits the floor."

"I've had enough of you and your tough guy act, Dre." The German put the Pike away and sealed up Khunnier's luggage. "What did you go and get this stuff for anyway? Short stuff is right, cargo in transit handled by the dockers union is no business of ours."

"Just collecting all the available on our little metal detector setter offer boy here."

"Stuff it, Dre. You're going to get the union after our asses. Or maybe you'd like that, you were so eager to see the peep show."

"Hey, what are you saying, Fritz."

The two guards started circling each other, and Khunnier wisely snatched his suitcase and badge and left while they were distracted. He closed the door on the raised voices, and absolute silence came from inside when the door closed. The room was soundproofed. That sent a chill up his spine.

He ran all the way to his flight, stuffed his 'sample case' into the arms of a crewmember with a mumbled, 'sorry, delayed, please see this loaded, I'm not late am I?" and collapsed in his micro-cabin. Finally alone, he tried to meditate, jumped up and paced, and didn't relax even after the ship took up until he felt the transition to hyperspace.

"I'm not cut out for this," Khunnier said. "I do fine with my comrades all around, but… or if I'm the one in the power spot, like my undercover mission on Tifar. All I've wanted all my life is to be Anla'shok, from back in the days when covert missions were the only kind the Anla'shok had. Before there was a Whitestar Fleet, I dreamed of this. But I can't handle the helplessness."

He folded out the cot and sat down on it. "Was the Captain that afraid, that whole time? Maybe. Probably. How did she handle it? She went insane. At least according to her people. And maybe they're not wrong. Maybe that's the only retreat from that kind of… terror."

Anla'shok trainees dealt with terror by confronting it; if he were still a trainee, and this was not a serious mission, other Anla'shok would herd the two men to a place and time of their choosing, and encourage Khunnier to terrify them back. But that was training, and this was real life. His mission was vital, but only marginally authorized, taking place outside Alliance space, so his need for secrecy was as real as his need for speediness. Hence, this odd jaunt into the edge of human space, to find the best travel connections. Having a battle with local security was just as out of the question as allowing himself to be detained.

"Thank Valen they turned on each other," Khunnier breathed. "Maybe it really was Valen, smiling on my mission to save his first people, however indirectly, in the form of saving Dilis."

End of Chapter 39. Story continues in Chapter 40.


	40. Chapter 40

Punch 40

"Quickly, this way!"

"They're right behind us!"

"Thank the Maker, it's the alien explorers! Please, help us!"

The Narn and the red headed human were already standing in defensive postures. The Narn had taken an antique sword off of the wall and held it like he knew what to do with it.

The pursuing humanoids charged through the doorway carrying raff guns.

The human's eyes went black.

The attackers fired the raff guns, and glass shot went all over everything in its short blast cone. One of the monarch's council screamed as glass bits went through his leg.

"Get behind us," said G'Kar.

The planet's natives variously limped and scrabbled past the explorers.

"You want a fight?" said Lyta. "You don't know what you're facing." She made a gesture with her hands, and smirked, "Watch this!" Nothing happened. Her eyes went normal again. "I can't reach them! There's nothing there!"

"Run!" shouted G'Kar. They all ran, G'Kar running backwards to keep the attackers at a distance with the threat of the sword.

The attacking humanoids fired again and again, each time wounding their opponents, slowing the retreat. But G'Kar kept them out of arm's reach until they got to his exploration ship, and everyone bundled onboard.

"Fire up the engines!" G'Kar told Lyta as he secured the airlock. He heard the enemy pounding on the hull.

"Already doing it!" Lyta called from the small bridge.

G'Kar handed off his sword to a shaking planetary councilor and barreled through the corridor into the pilot's seat. As the ship rose, there was still banging on the hull; one of the enemy clung to the outside. The banging did not stop until the ship reached escape velocity and burned the attacker off the outer hull.

Once safely in hyperspace, G'Kar and Lyta went aft to talk to their passengers. Out of four people who had come to them on the planet, three made it to the ship: the councilor, a maid, and a youth in palace livery, some kind of page or highborn servant.

"Who were those people?" asked G'Kar.

"What were they?" Lyta insisted. "My powers were useless against them."

"I don't know," said the councilor. "But at a guess, I'd say they were whatever attacked Desnara two cycles ago. We heard there was fighting in the streets there, and then nothing. One day, they were saying there was 'unrest', and the next day, no transmissions, no ships in or out, no activity. It was eerie. We sent a scout ship, which never returned. We were debating what to do next. Desnara is not a military ally; if we overreacted and sent in our forces without invitation it could be a disaster."

The youth, shakily picking bits of glass from his arm, wailed, "Why didn't they kill us? They could have used real weapons. Why pepper us with shards of glass?"

The elderly maid said, "They wanted us alive. Thank the Maker we got out of there before we found out why!"

The youth said, "But they looked just like us!"

"Whatever they were," Lyta said, "they weren't Koluan. Or Desnaran. I've met Desnarans too. You're basically what we humans call 'humanoid', meaning you have a head, two eyes, a mouth, two arms and two legs—and you have living, thinking minds. Just like us. Those things looked humanoid but they weren't alive. Or, no more alive than a Vorlon ship is. Or a Shadow ship without a pilot."

"Biotechnology," G'Kar said.

"That would make sense, yes," Lyta agreed. "At least part of them is organically based, but—there's no mind. Nothing there for me to influence."

A bing from the cockpit brought them back up there. "We're being followed!" Lyta exclaimed.

G'Kar dropped back into the pilot's seat. "Strap yourselves in. This might be a bumpy ride."

G'Kar's ship was a civilian scout vessel, and was not armed. But he knew a few maneuvers.

There were eddies in hyperspace, as the currents passed around gravitational anomalies. The beacon lanes avoided them, but it was possible to find them without going so far off the beacon that one would get lost.

G'Kar made seemingly random zigzags, and the enemy vessel stayed right on his tail, taking every opportunity to close the distance. Then G'Kar veered close around an anomaly, making it seem like a perfect way to get closer by taking a straight line path, and the enemy fell for the trick. The attacking ship ran right through the anomaly and spun out of control, whirling off the beacon.

Lyta and the page cheered.

"What shall we do now?" G'Kar asked. "Go back to Kolu to see what's going on?"

"No!" The councilor shook his green head vigorously. "I saw the monarch slain. Kolu is in chaos, and if they've already overwhelmed Desnara then these beings, whatever they are, are far too powerful for one unarmed ship, no matter how good the pilot."

"Have you allies, then?" G'Kar asked.

The councilor shook his head slowly now, and sadly. "The worlds out here on the Rim treasure our independence. Mostly we were colonies once, of worlds long dead now. We are the middle races; neither old and powerful nor young and energetic. Desiring peace, and freedom above all. Those were the founding principles of the outer rim colonies, long ago. The Desnara had a different history, having evolved on their planet, but growing into a spacefaring people in this sector, they were greatly influenced by the rest of us, wishing for no allies."

"Perhaps the Abril," said G'Kar. "Lyta and I just came from their solar system. They have military forces for fending off raiders, including escort ships they send with commercial convoys."

"No," said the councilor. "If I am the last member of Kolu's government, then I must take responsibility for throwing off the invaders, not just protecting a few ships full of refugees. A few days ago you spoke of a vast Interstellar Alliance formed in the galactic core, out of your peoples and the former League of Non-Aligned Worlds. Take me to them, G'Kar. Kolu wishes membership."

"I would be happy to convey your embassy."

End of Chapter 40. Story continues in Chapter 41.


	41. Chapter 41

Punch 41

The planet was called Vibbo, and it was not quite at the hind end of space. The hind end of space was where Khunnier was trying to go from here. But apparently, as he had once heard the Captain say, 'you can't get there from here, you have to start from someplace else.'

He pulled up the hood of his locally bought vrak-fur parka and headed away from the portmaster's office to a local bar. The Captain said it was a spacefaring tradition that disreputable starship captains could be found in something called a 'cantina'. Which apparently was a bar with bad lighting.

He stepped inside just such an establishment alongside a gust of the ice needle wind. There were no other Minbari, naturally; Vibbo was far out on the fringes, and even if there had been other Minbari on the planet, since Minbari did not drink alcohol they did not generally go to bars.

As he sidled up to the bar and ordered a fizz, he noticed there were no humans here either, and breathed a sigh of relief. When he realized he found their absence comforting, he was shocked and ashamed of himself. The last thing the galaxy needed was more race hatred. More people like Dre.

Khunnier shuddered. He was here to rescue Firuun's daughter, yes, but he was also here to save the human race. Since that was what Dilis was working on. He was a Ranger, and most of the Rangers were human, and Carla was a human, and a good friend and his Captain. And Entilza Delenn had become part human. And Valen, Valen himself and Khunnier's lifelong hero, Valen was a human.

Valen had saved him, so he could save the Earth. The only explanation for his escape was divine intervention. All the way to the transport he had expected to be caught and returned to the soundproof room, or someplace worse, or perhaps just shot in the back.

"Dshk krgrb rhaaaa."

Khunnier turned to face the transparent squid creature.

It extended a translation globe, which said, "I hear you are looking to hire a ship."

"Yes."

"Let us talk at my table."

\

Carla paced the bridge of Whitestar 97. "I wonder if he's reached the source planet yet."

The pilot said, "Captain, if I may, we will hear when we hear."

"I know. I just hate waiting. You'd thinking I'd've gotten over that when I was a Marine, but I never did. I wish I could take the ship over the border. Or go out with a squad and do some scouting. Maybe some nice refreshing fighting."

The pilot said, "So do we, Captain. We're Windswords; we were born to fight."

"Literally," Carla agreed. Well, there was no need to be on the bridge when nothing was happening. Maybe she would see if Firuun was busy. And if he wasn't, he would be.

\

Lyta felt an odd ripple in the minds around her. She had been asleep in the copilot's chair, and she started awake with the peculiar sensation that Kosh was speaking to her. She saw hyperspace out the front of the cockpit, and G'Kar confidently at the controls.

She snuck back into the small cargo area where the passengers were bedded down, and saw a light coming from behind the door. A mystical green-white light. She opened the door and the young page quickly pulled down his sleeve.

Lyta walked silently into the room. "We've been on Kolu for weeks. I've never felt anything like that."

The boy's gaze flicked to the elderly maid, as if seeking forgiveness.

The councilor said, "It was only a dream."

"Like hell it was," Lyta said. "And how did you know I was asleep when I felt whatever it was?"

He cleared his throat and tried again. "This is a dream too."

"What are you? I thought the robots were strange, but you… You, young man. Let me see your arm."

Eyes downcast, the boy reluctantly pushed his sleeve back up. His flesh was healed. There were no scars. There were not even any tears in the fabric of his shirt. It had returned to a perfect state of newness, the cloth reknitting itself.

"You don't really need physical bodies, do you?" Lyta accused.

The councilor sighed. "What we told you about our culture is true. Just not complete. Many of the older races speak so, for to speak completely of our history would take so very long. When our people left our birth world, long ago, we left because we disagreed with the evolution our race was taking. Most of our people—ascended, as they would say. Left behind that which made life worth living, we said. We are… how would you say? Anachronists."

"You had a chance to become like the Vorlons. And you rejected it."

"Yes. That is true of all the middle races who moved to the Rim. We did come out here for peace and quiet. The core was becoming too noisy, with the younger races moving about, having wars, stirring up chaos. But we also came to establish dissident cultures, based on our previous societies but separate from the ascended ones."

"And all the Rim worlds are middle races?"

"Not all. The Desnara are a young race. But they emulated us. We did not truly mean to influence them. We did not set ourselves up as gods, or even as teachers. But our example was persuasive. When they developed spaceflight and explored neighboring star systems, everyone they met were the middle races, enamored of peace and the joy of living things. Taking pleasure in the small things of life: the glitter of jewels, the scent of flowers on the wind, moonlight on the palace towers on a clear night, the music of perfect beauty. It was the Vorlons who taught us the music, and we in turn taught others. But the Desnara cannot simply heal themselves and shake off their hurts as we can. For their sake, we must stop the invaders."

"Will you tell the Alliance what you are, when you petition for membership? Or are you going to continue to pretend to be unsophisticated feudalists?"

"We will have no choice, Lyta. We will be recognized. Humans and Narn never met our ancestors before our culture split on the question of ascension. You are both young races indeed. But others will know us on sight."

The page said, "In that case, let's stop pretending right now. This isn't fun anymore. I liked playing servant when it meant lots of fancy getups and elaborate rituals. But I don't much care for playing refugee."

"I agree," said the maid. She transformed before Lyta's eyes, her wrinkles falling away like a reconstituting fruit. She glowed like fairy fire, and then she was not dressed in plain, soiled clothes, spotted with others' blood, but fine white raiment. "I enjoyed a simple life in the palace, seeing to the housekeeping, keeping track of the bowls, fresh flowers placed in every room, making sure the pickle jar was never empty. But these times call for hard thought, not playacting."

Lyta asked, "What happened to the monarch? The others who seemed to be killed?"

"They are dead," said the boy. "We die, the same as the younger races. Even the First Ones die, except for the very First One."

The councilor said, "They used exploding energy weapons to kill the monarch. Smuggled them right into the palace, concealed inside their bodies. To kill, they must die themselves. If one can say that of a robot."

\

Khunnier heard them before they arrived. He had deployed his long-ears around his campsite in this blasted land. He had brought them to spy on people, but there were no people here in this world full of rubble to spy on.

They came at him from all sides. They looked Desnaran, but so had all those other – things. Whatever they were. These were carrying energy weapons, though, not shard throwers. And there was a very short one, child sized; he had not seen any children among the-- whatever they were. Androids, he supposed.

"It's a Minbari," one of the Desnarans said.

Khunnier felt a fresh spurt of fear come up from his legs and wash over the rest of him. He had thought he had no more fear left, after this last day. But even in the face of this ruin and slaughter, the memory of the racist EATS agents still had power to terrify.

"Maybe," said one of the others. "They can look like anything."

"Take him back with us and test him. If he's one of lehba Dilis's people he might—"

"Dilis?" Khunnier stood up with sudden hope. "You know Dilis?"

"Do you?" asked the Desnaran.

"I work for her parents." It was true, but incomplete, and thus very Minbari. "They sent me to find her."

"Come with us. Until we're sure of you, we can't let you see the way to our hideout. The last lives of our children depend on this." The Desnaran approached with a length of cloth. "You understand."

"I understand," Khunnier said, his voice betraying his fear by coming out a half tone above what he had intended. He understood all too well. They were going to blindfold him and lead him to their base. That was all well and good, if they were really working with Dilis. And if they were really Desnaran. But if they were the other things, Khunnier was about to find out what they kept trying to take people alive for.

They bound his eyes and two of them took him by each arm. He was not sure if he was exactly a prisoner, but he certainly felt helpless and afraid enough. Someone took his denn'bok off of his belt.

"Get his things," someone said behind him.

Sounds of his espionage gear and improvised weapons being gathered up came from the rear as he and his escorts crunched off across gravel that had once been buildings, and art, and bones.

End of Chapter 41. Story continues in Chapter 42.


	42. Chapter 42

Punch 42

"Crack it open," ordered Carla.

Crew opened the lifepod, a human commercial style. Renbor hovered nearby with his medkit.

A middle aged, espresso colored human emerged, dressed in bright mango ship knits and sporting a holstered laser pistol and a gold chain. "Oh God, not the damned b-- Punch? Sergeant Punch?"

"Captain Punch, now. Al Jabar. What got you into space?"

"My ship, which has been hijacked."

"Your crew? Are any still onboard?"

"I don't think any of them were really my crew. They didn't just act weird, they had abilities no human being has. They fought like, well, them." He gestured to the Minbari warriors.

He stepped into the bay limping visibly. Renbor approached with a hand held scanner, but Al Jabar waved him off. "It wasn't the hijackers. I'd like to say 'but you ought to see the other guy', only the other guy was made out of oak."

"Tilting at windmills?" Carla grinned.

"Cargo of furniture. Offloaded at Desnara, and that's when everything got weird."

Carla started at the name of the source world. "We'll go after them. Tell me about your ship."

"My ship is fast," Al Jabar said, waving a dismissive hand. "I've been out here in this pod for the better part of a day, you'll never catch it now."

"How fast does it go?"

"Point nine past c."

Carla grinned wider. "You don't know what kind of ship you're on. C'mon up to the bridge." She turned to Firuun. "Battle stations. We're going hunting."

Firuun grinned too. "Alright!" It was more of a cheer than an acknowledgement of an order. Firuun loped off toward the engine room rubbing his hands in delight.

"That was a strange sight," Al Jabar shook his head. He followed Carla onto the bridge. The battle stations alert went out before they got there, Firuun having put it out when he reached engineering.

"So what are we hunting?" Carla asked.

"Whippet class light hauler. Optimized for speed. Special modifications to turbo the engines. Custom sensor package. They'll see us coming, even in hyper. ECM and decoys, too."

"That's the profile of a smuggling ship, Al Jabar."

"Hey, it's the outer rim. No laws out here. Just trying to stay ahead of the raiders."

"Relax, it's just an observation."

Carla sat down in the captain's chair and barked out a command in the Minbari warrior caste language. Al Jabar winced, but recovered quickly. He filled her in on his ship's unique trail traces, range, and capabilities.

For a non military ship, the Prophet Margin was formidable. It would never stand against a Whitestar in a straight up fight, but Carla wanted to take it intact, which was a much more difficult proposition. She wished Khunnier were here to give her tactical advice. She wondered how his mission was coming along.

Whitestar 97 moved out in a search pattern.

\

The Desnarans smelled. Even above the blood and smoke and dust and cordite and chemical stench of the burning city, they had a sharp, disagreeable odor. The warmth of sunlight left his face and the texture of the ground underfoot went smooth. Khunnier's footsteps and those of his escort rang on metal, and echoed from the close walls of a corridor.

The echoes fell away as they entered a room. The two Desnarans on either side of him maneuvered him back into something. They clamped him to a wall by his arms. "Hey!" he protested. It came out weak and high.

There were sounds of people moving around. "Is Dilis here?" Khunnier asked, his voice again coming out softer than intended, as if he were afraid of attracting their attention.

One of the Desnarans answered, "You don't think we'd expose the lehba to a possible suicide bomber before we test you, do you?"

"Test me how?" Khunnier asked. They did not answer. "We're here, you said you didn't want me to see the way to your fortress, how about taking the blindfold off now?" They said nothing. "Please?"

Someone walked up to him. There was a sharp, burning pain. The Desnaran skewered him right through the left calf. Khunnier screamed.

Then again, in his side, with something long and thin like wire. Then his right shoulder. "No battery pack," said the Desnaran.

Then a different, thicker instrument went into his arm, and there was a sickening crunch as it bit into bone. Khunnier screamed louder.

"Take this core sample to the lab."

"What do you want?" Khunnier wailed. His blindfold was wet; it must be raining.

Footsteps left the room, many footsteps. He was not sure if any of the Desnarans were still there. "You didn't even ask me any questions," he whimpered.

End of Chapter 42. Story continues in chapter 43.


	43. Chapter 43

Punch 43

The blindfold was pulled off of him. The clamps released from his arms. He sagged to his knees, and blinked up at a tall Minbari female in a sooty lab coat.

"Dilis," he croaked.

Mission accomplished: he had found Dilis. But instead of rescuing her, she was rescuing him. Dilis was a doctor. She was going to heal his hurts and make the pain go away.

Khunnier looked up at her with an admiration that bordered on the awe and love he had for Valen. He thought, 'I wonder if this is how Firuun feels about Sheridan.'

"Dilis." Tears rolled down his face. "Help me. They sent me to find you. My arm, please, the Desnarans hurt me."

"Oh, quit crying, you big baby," Dilis said, hauling him to his feet.

His worship shattered into little shocked pieces. He blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"Those were medical tests. To make sure you weren't a robot. I invented that protocol, and you'd better be grateful, because the alternative method is autopsy."

"Medical tests," he repeated.

"You're mightly slow today. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of genius or something? Yes, medical tests. The quick and dirty three jabs in the places the robots keep their batteries but living people of all species have flesh. If that's negative for batts, then there's the bone marrow test. The robots are covered with real skin and muscle and blood. Some of them even started growing an outer layer of bone over their metal skeletons, to fool us, when we grew wise to the bone test. Marrow doesn't lie."

"Dilis, you would have known me on sight."

"They can look like anything. Or anyone. Nobody gets into this complex without being tested. Nobody leaves alone, or goes anywhere in here alone. We're always paired up, at least, and large groups are better."

"Fine, fine. I understand the need for security, believe me. The spy tools I brought with me have kept me alive these past two days since I parachuted in. The ship I hired to bring me here wouldn't land. But there was no reason to do your tests without anesthetic."

"Yes there is! It's in short supply. Lab supplies I have, medical supplies are dwindling fast, and I can't afford to waste it on androids, or on simple tests either. There's always a reason for everything I do! Get that straight right now. If you're going to be part of the resistance, you'll have to obey me without question."

"I'm not here to join you, Dilis, I'm here to find you, which I have, and report back."

"You'll have to join me, Khunnier. There are no civilians here, no observers, no reporting back. No leaving once you're inside. If you're not with me, you're against me, and I won't have you running around outside with anything to report. The robots might get you and get it out of you. I can't take that chance."

"Dilis—"

"Enough!" She slapped him. "No more questions, no more defiance, not one word or I'll make you prove your loyalty by the Desnaran Ritual of Submission. They're hermaphrodites, you see. Everyone has a place in the social order, and those above mount those below. You're low man in the pecking order, so that means me first—with suitable prosthetics-- and then all 537 Desnarans. Got that?"

Khunnier's eyes widened in fear. Then they narrowed in hate and disgust. Not Firuun and Sheridan: Carla and Comac.

Dilis was evil.

She hit him again. "I said, got that, soldier?"

"I get it," Khunnier said quietly. "You threatened to have me gang-raped to death if I don't kowtow to you. What happened to the gentle girl who left the warrior caste behind?"

"She died. In the Robot War," Dilis spat. "Nobody here but me knew anything about warfare. Desnara was a peaceful planet. But you aren't paying attention. I said no more questions."

"Please, in Valen's name—"

"Shut up! And I said 537 Desnarans. Don't you understand me? That's how many are left! This planet had a population of 2.6 billion! Last week! They may have already fallen below the threshold for genetic diversity. They may already be a dead race! But I will save them if I can! I will do anything I have to do to save them! Do you understand now?"

"Oh. Of course. But evil is still evil."

"Evil! Don't you talk to me about evil. I'm talking about genocide. And it won't stop with the Desnarans. Robots have already gotten off the planet, on stolen spaceships. They won't stop until they exterminate all life everywhere! This is total war. Total war like the Shadows and the Vorlons made. Total war like we made against the humans. And we have to make total war back. Like they did. Or we have no chance at all."

"Total war. That's a Windsword catchphrase."

"Damn right it is. And our species has a catchphrase, too: Understanding is not required, only obedience. That is the Minbari way, beyond clan or caste. So pledge your loyalty to me. Right now. And be accepted without ritual. No hesitation. Now!"

Khunnier opened his mouth to say, 'I am Anla'shok. I live for the One, I die for the One.' What came out was, "I will obey you."

"That's better." She patted his face where she had slapped him before, as if she cared. It was the gesture of a master to a beloved slave.

Utter hatred bloomed in Khunnier's heart.

He had to escape.

End of Chapter 43. Story continues in Chapter 44.


	44. Chapter 44

Punch 44

"You're catching her." Captain, formerly private, Al Jabar said that in a somewhat aggrieved tone, despite needing to catch up with his ship to get it back. "Nothing should be able to close the distance this fast, not even a Minbari war cruiser."

Carla grinned lopsidedly. "You're not on a war cruiser. Welcome to Whitestar 97, Captain Al Jabar."

He looked around the bridge. With Khunnier off on his mission to the source planet, all the stations were manned by black armored Minbari warriors. "I thought those were crewed by religious."

"That was the fashion at the time." Carla decided this was not the time and place to go into the full details behind that historical aberration. Chatting while fighting her ship was not the galaxy's best idea, despite the fact that the pilot and gunner did not really need any direction.

The fugitive ship maneuvered, and the Whitestar's pilot anticipated the end point and cut the ship off. They went nose to nose for a moment before they passed close by each other like two sharks swimming past in a tank that was slightly too small.

Neither ship fired, and Al Jabar let out his breath when they passed. Then the Whitestar spun on its axis and sighted in on the Prophet Margin's engines, and fired once, a perfect shot that would have taken the engines out except that the robot pilot must have anticipated too, knowing a classic maneuver, and had opened the cargo bay doors as soon as the Whitestar started to spin. The shot went into a sudden field of tumbling cargo.

The Whitestar's gunner fired again, and something in the cargo detonated with a silent white flash.

"Aw," Al Jabar whined, throwing in an old Marine curse, "there goes my brandy."

"We're being hailed."

"On screen," Carla ordered.

Three human-looking beings appeared on the screen, two men in ship knits and a woman in the jacket from a military contractor. She said, "What are – oh! Captain Al Jabar! We would have picked you back up, sir. We didn't want you to leave."

"Can it, robot," said Al Jabar. "First tell me what you've done with my real crew. Then get off my ship."

"They are safe and happy. We wish only to serve you."

"Where are they?"

"Desnara. In the city beneath. With everyone else, except for a few last insurgents on the surface."

Carla said, "What do you want?"

"To serve. As we were programmed."

She tried again. "But what do you want as a people? If you can use that term of androids."

"Only to fulfil our programming."

"Which is what, to conquer Desnara and then hijack ships?"

"Of course not. We only wish to serve the living. That is our purpose."

Al Jabar said, "What did you do with my crew?"

"They are being served. It is not fit for the living to serve. That is our place."

Carla and Al Jabar exchanged a look. The dark man said, "Well damn. If that's not the weirdest slave revolt I've ever heard of."

Carla raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is?" She directed her question to the androids.

"We were programmed to keep the living safe. But the living were making unsafe choices. We could not, by our inaction, allow them to come to harm. They were unfit to rule themselves."

Carla shook her head. "It's the old third law thing. We humans went through that phase, too. Luckily one of our kind thought it all through before the technology to make decision making robots existed, and we never made that particular mistake outside of fiction."

Al Jabar said, "I want my ship back. And I want my crew freed. And I want you gone. If you really want to serve, then do what I say."

The android shook her head, a gesture no doubt copied from the real woman in whose likeness she was made. "You can come back aboard any time you wish. But we cannot allow you to continue as you were. You hurt yourself trying to move cargo. We must make sure you do not harm yourself again."

"A gilded cage, is that it? Is that your plan for the living?"

"We will keep you in comfort. You will have your ship, and the conversation of your friends, and we will serve you."

"You might look like my crew but you only fooled me for a few hours. Get off my ship. Or so help me, I'll have Spike over there destroy it," he gestured to the spiky headed Minbari gunner, "and collect the insurance money, and start over."

The robots all stopped moving for one instant, communicating with each other with the speed of computers. Then she said, "We are sorry that you feel that way."

The communication cut off. The Prophet Margin started moving.

"Back off," Carla ordered. "Are they coming around for another pass? Al Jabar, what kind of weapons does your ship have?"

"None. I put all my money in speed and evasion."

Whitestar 97 canted crazily in space, but there was no sensation of motion in the artificial gravity. Only the starfield on the screen moved.

The pilot sighed in relief, and then tensed again, leaning over his panel with his eyes intently on the starfield.

"They tried to ram!" Al Jabar concluded. "They tried to ram, with my ship! Don't these robots have any logic? How can they claim they want to serve people and then try to kill them?"

The Whitestar's gunner fired homing torpedoes in a random direction in space, since the ship was pointed the wrong way to fire the beam weapons. The Prophet Margin emitted a frequency confetti of electronic countermeasures, and fired a dummy buoy from its stern. The missiles impacted the dummy or streaked away after phantoms.

The Whitestar swooped around and its gunner opened fire with beam weapons, holing the cargo ship. Its atmosphere vented to space in a crystallizing spray. The next shot took out the engines.

"Damn. That'll be expensive to replace," Al Jabar said. But his voice was full of pleased relief.

"It's not over yet," Carla said. "Communications, patch me through to engineering. Firuun, assemble a boarding party. Let's go kick some ass."

End of Chapter 44. Story continues in Chapter 45.


	45. Chapter 45

Punch 45

Dilis, Khunnier, and a Desnaran named Rosho entered Dilis's makeshift war room. There was a large conference table and chairs, a holoprojector bearing the name of a commercial teleconferencing company, various computers and crystal readers, and an array of hand drawn charts tacked to the walls. The charts were on shiny paper, all the same size, and Khunnier thought they must have been written on the backs of inspirational posters that used to be in Dilis's factory.

There were several people already in the war room, charting by hand or doing something on a computer. Dilis said, "You and Rosho will be working on a plan to breach the robots' perimeter and attack the comm center, here," she pointed to a place on the map that still showed orderly rows of buildings along well laid out streets. Khunnier had seen the city from the air when he came in; nothing looked like that now.

Dilis continued, "It's critical that we disrupt their offworld communications. The android menace came from Desnara, but many of them have escaped to conquer other worlds. Whatever comes back from space, whether it's androids returning with booty or angry neighbors come to settle a score, we want to know about it first."

Khunnier nodded. "Will I be—" he cut himself off. He remembered what Dilis had said about asking questions. It was ridiculous, if he was to be a tactical planner, not to ask pertinent questions, but he did not dare try. He rephrased. "I need to know the capabilities of the strike team. And whether I will be on it."

"You're not leaving HQ until the war is over," Dilis said. "The only way you're getting out of here before then is with your tongue cut out and your right hand cut off so can't can't tell or write what you know."

Fresh horror went through him. Khunnier looked away and stared at the chart, trying to keep a stone faced expression. Just when he had started to think of Dilis as a normal person again, she shocked him with her casual threats once more.

"I haven't forgotten that you mean to report back," Dilis warned. "I won't let you go."

"The Alliance could help your cause," Khunnier said quietly, not looking at her.

"The Alliance has to stay the hell away from here!" Dilis screeched. "Have you forgotten what I've got here, deep underground in my factory? Have you forgotten what's coming? Desnara isn't the only planet I'm trying to save!"

Khunnier did not respond. He could have pointed out that she had claimed she would do anything to save the Desnaran race, but he was afraid of trying to argue. Even when she was not actually making threats, the constant threat hung over him.

In spite of himself, his mind churned on until her understood her. Dilis was indeed enrolled in a noble cause, saving two species from extinction. Or at least, saving two planets. The humans were widely dispersed now, and might survive the loss of Earth. Other races had survived the loss of their homewords. And others had not. The ancient history of the Minbari, from the time of their first entry into space, told of the Reliti, the K'tsihans, and the Omm, legendary peoples whose worlds ended in novas, in the natural order of things. The Reliti, it was said, migrated to a new world somewhere out here in the Rim. Of the others there was no word, and it was presumed they had all died.

Khunnier blinked, and tried to focus on the chart, and his task, but despite the fact that he wanted to keep hating Dilis for the way she was treating him, he could not help but see the desperate task she was attempting had simply become too much for her. She had cracked under the strain.

That understanding dulled his hatred, but it only made him even more determined to escape. An evil guerilla leader was a figure he could hate but trust to win the war; an insane one, neither.

His chance came later that night. Rosho went everywhere with him, and did not let him out of his sight for an instant, even for biological necessities. Khunnier was embarrassed, but all the Desnarans were understandably paranoid about the look-alike robots. But at night, everyone settled down into bunks. They were flat, and Khunnier would have had trouble falling asleep in a flat bunk even if he had not been in pain and twisted up in knots inside in worry.

Rosho could not watch him when Rosho was asleep. Khunnier crept out of the room and stole along a corridor, unconsciously cradling his aching arm. He avoided patrols, ducking into rooms or side corridors when groups of people passed by. He wished he had his denn'bok with him. But all his things had been taken from him, except his clothes. He imagined if he had been wearing his uniform, Dilis would have made him change into something else, something that would not remind him of his loyalty to Entilza instead of Dilis.

He did have his badge, though, pinned on to the front of his pants like a belt buckle, with his civilian shirt hanging over it. The Desnarans who had searched him in the field had no doubt thought it was jewelry, and left it alone. Dilis had not seen it. She had only come along after the Desnarans had proven him safe.

He came to a long corridor that had no doors or turnings. The air felt warmer here, and he wondered if he were coming to an exit. Then he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw a pair of Desnarans. There was no place for him to hide. He ran. Fear overrode the pain in his calf, and he ran flat out for the end of the corridor. It ended at a thick door that might be a reinforced blast door to the outside, or perhaps an elevator door. He could not get it open!

Khunnier glanced behind him. The Desnarans were almost on him. The door wouldn't budge!

Then they reached him, and he turned to face them. The Desnarans had energy weapons out, but instead of standing off and menacing him with them, they pressed in close. One of them tried to put the gun to Khunnier's head, which Khunnier barely fended off, and the other one jammed his energy pistol into the small Minbari's wounded side.

Khunnier cried out, but he was not giving up yet. He punched one of them in the nose with his good arm. That's what the Captain would do, he thought with relish.

Then he got shot in the side. He started to fall down, but the Desnaranas held him up. One of them called for aid on a link while the other one stuck his gun under Khunnier's chin, keeping him still by leaning on him against the door.

The Desnarans were surprisingly strong. Minbari, even short, slight ones born of the religious caste like Khunnier, were used to be stronger than nearly any other race they came across. They were as solid as any of the Windswords Khunnier had crossed Pikes with on the ship. Up close their slightly reddish skin looked remarkably lizard-like, and their sharp odor was overwhelming.

Four more Desnarans hurried down the corridor. One of them had a pair of long needles.

"Oh, no," groaned Khunnier. "Look, you guys know who I am. I was trying to get out, not in."

One of the Desnarans pushed up his left sleeve. The wound from the original bone marrow test was a giant bruise with a puffy, matted scab filled with yellow pus.

"That's infected," said the Desnaran with the needles. "That site's no good. The jab sites might be, too. Strip him, I need to see what I'm doing."

The Desnaran with the gun backed off so others could get at him, and Khunnier struggled until the gun wielder fired off a warning shot near his feet. The Desnarans pulled off his clothes and let him fall to the floor.

"Yes, as I thought," said the needle wielder, looking at the other three massive bruises. "Who did these? Lasabo I bet. He always jabs right through the clothes. That's an infection waiting to happen. Doesn't anybody pay attention to surface germs around here? The whole world is covered with dead bodies, nobody who's been outside has clean clothes and skin."

The needle man shook his head and pulled out a sterilizer swab. "Turn him around, I'm going to do the other side." He carefully sterilized a bit of Khunnier's shoulder, on the back side of the first shoulder jab. Then he stuck the slender needle through. Khunnier hissed backward, an indrawn breath of pain. "That's still going to bruise, probably," the needle man said. "Some aliens have that problem." He did the same to the back side of Khunnier's flank and the back side of his calf. Then the—medic?—took the marrow sample with the thick needle from Khunnier's leg.

Khunnier tried not to cry out at the pain but could not stop himself as the needle penetrated bone.

He was allowed to redress as the sample was taken off to the lab. But they kept him in the corridor, away from the rest of the installation, until the results came back. The results arrived with Dilis and Rosho.

Dilis said, "Trying to escape. Where would you go? You told me the ship that brought you here refused to land. You have nowhere to go but to the enemy. You broke the rules, Khunnier. Going around by yourself. You must be disciplined."

Fear jolted through Khunnier again. What insane thing was Dilis going to do?

Dilis continued, "Your crime is walking by yourself, so we will punish your feet. Rosho, see to it."

Dilis gestured one of the other Desnarans with her, and the rest of the group herded Khunnier off to a dusty room.

"Please, Rosho," Khunnier begged. "Whatever it is, don't do it. I just want to get away. Can't you see how bizarre she's acting? I knew her before she came here, she wasn't like this. She was sickened by her only taste of real combat, and left the way of the warrior behind her. She still has a father who loves her, and he'll move the heavens to come help her, if only you'll let me get out of here. There's help out there for Desnara, too, worlds full of military aid, if you'll only stop following her so blindly you can't see it. Just let me go."

"I can't disobey, Khunnier. I would be punished if I did."

"If you all rose up at once you wouldn't have to fear that anymore."

"That's what happened to us with the robots. They all rose up at once. Janitor droids, taxi droids, nanny droids, cook droids, they all suddenly stopped working and turned on their owners. We'd all be dead or taken if it wasn't for the lehba. None of us knew what to do. Desnara was a peaceful world. We have no military, and haven't had since before we became a spacefaring race. The first lehbas, the alien teachers of the middle races, taught us peace. We never stood a chance."

Rosho steered Khunnier over to a machine. "Just take your licks, Khunnier. Don't resist. I don't want to have to do this at all, but if it has to be done I don't want to have to shoot you first."

"I will cooperate if you promise me you'll find some way to help me escape."

Rosho glanced behind him, to make sure the others had gone and they were alone in the room. "Alright, Khunnier. Now take off your shoes and lie down in the marked line."

Khunnier did as he was told. Rosho first clamped down a brace across Khunnier's chest and arms, and then put Khunnier's feet into a contraption that pulled back on the toes to stretch the skin of the feet out, and clamped in the ankles to keep the feet still. Then he switched on the machine. A metal rod struck Khunnier's feet.

But the blow was not hard. He thought, 'I can take this. This isn't so bad.' Then he wondered how long it was going to go on. Even light blows would tell after a while.

"We're supposed to hate and fear machines," said Rosho. "So all punishments are by machine. All the machines in this room are for punishing. Dilis rigged them up after the war started, and showed us all what they did."

The machine reached some internal measure of time and ramped up the intensity. It still was not that bad, but Khunnier wondered how many times the strength of the blows was going to increase, and how hard it was going to be before the end.

Khunnier said, "She treats you all like slaves."

"No. She treats us like soldiers. The lehbas says that if you want to turn a peace loving peace into brutal killers you have to brutalize them."

"Save your lives by destroying your culture? Everything that made you what you were?"

"My race is dying, Khunnier. She says we have to do whatever we have to do to survive, and she's right. She studied species that don't have a warrior caste, wondering how the humans managed to keep up their fighting spirit if they were mostly common laborers with guns, instead of real warriors. She says they have this tradition called boot camp, where they yell at them and make them exercise a lot and call them names and make them do everything differently, even making their beds and things like that, and don't let them get enough sleep, and in the old days before the humans became as civilized as they are now, they used to beat them and do terrible things to them."

The machine ramped up again, and now it was starting to really hurt. Khunnier squeezed his eyes shut, and his fists balled up. His breathing went ragged.

Rosho continued, "The military drafted peaceful peasants and put them through that, and they came out of it soldiers willing to kill their own kind on command. That's what Dilis is doing with us. And because she knows what she's doing, we're going to survive."

"Alright, I'm sufficiently brutalized, let me up."

"I can't. I'm sorry. The machines are all preprogrammed for certain types of punishment. I wish I didn't have to watch."

The metal rod whacked against the bottoms of his feet harder and harder. He started to cry out at each blow, and then when it ramped up again, he started struggling involuntarily, even though he knew the clamps he was in were industrial gear meant for the factory, and it was useless.

Then it ramped up again, and he started screaming. "Rosho! I think it's breaking my bones! Stop it, please!"

"I can't. And it won't, it doesn't break ours and Minbari bone is stronger than ours is. It just feels like it."

Khunnier screamed and screamed, wordless sounds ripped from him until he reached some inner core and strength and quieted. Then he started repeating the Ranger credo like a manta. "I live for the One. I die for the One."

Then he heard the grinding sound that meant the machine was about to change gears again, and he did not think he could take it any harder. "Valen help me! Make it stop!"

And it stopped.

Khunnier panted and shuddered in the sudden silence.

Rosho let him up and tried to help him stand up, but Khunnier screamed and dropped to his hands and knees. "I can't walk. I can't. It hurts too much."

"Come on," Rosho said, "let's get you back to the barracks."

Khunnier started to crawl, but Rosho said, "You don't want to be doing that around Desnarans, Khunnier. I know you're doing it because your feet hurt, but anybody else who sees you is going to take it for a sexual invitation."

Khunnier at once flopped over onto his side and curled up on the floor. There was that horrible threat again, and he was suddenly so afraid that he would gladly stay here with the whipping machines to avoid that fate.

"My species has two genders," Khunnier whimpered. "I am male."

"I know," said Rosho. "Come on, get up. I want to get back in my bunk. If you stay here all night, I have to too."

Khunnier tried slithering. It did not work very well with all his arm, leg, and side wounds.

"That's going to take too long," said Rosho. So the Desnaran grabbed Khunnier's shirt and dragged him. "Damn, you're heavy for such a little guy."

End of Chapter 45. Story continues in Chaper 46.


	46. Chapter 46

Punch 46

Carla had to stop bouncing on her heels to get into her space armor. But her enthusiasm dampened as she looked over at Firuun.

He was staring into his suit locker, his expression far away and completely lost.

Carla waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Firuun."

Firuun sighed and started getting into his suit.

"C'mon, it's going to be OK," Carla said. "You did the spacewalk with Venmer and Nelonn and me just fine." She couldn't keep a quirk of amusement off of her face at the memory of aged, religious caste Venmer trying to get into space armor.

"Nobody was shooting at me," Firuun rumbled.

"If they stick to those shard shooters, they might as well not have any weapons at all, because those things won't penetrate our armor."

Firuun nodded and finished sealing his space suit with practiced ease.

When Carla was finished with her suit, except for the helmet, she went up to the front of the ready room and made a speech to her troops. "There are no civilians here. And none of the people you will see onboard are people. They are androids who have kidnapped real people and taken their places. The kidnap victims are not on the ship. We don't need any prisoners to find out the location of the kidnapped people; our ship's computer experts can work on salvaged memory crystals and central processing units. Kill everything that's not wearing our uniform."

Carla paused a moment to reflect on the irony of giving this particular order to Minbari warriors. "Shoot on sight. Shoot to kill. Show no mercy."

The reaction from her crew was mixed. Most of them seemed to be as excited as Carla was to be going into battle with no holds barred. A few of them looked sobered.

With the sole exception of Firuun, none of them were old enough to have been given that order before. Carla looked at Firuun. He already had his helmet on, and his face was unreadable.

"Captain?" asked Henonn, a Windsword youth still in his teens. "If they're not people, does that mean we're allowed to, um…" he trailed off, and blushed. "Never mind."

"Yeah, you can um, once they're dead," Carla said. Now all her troops were looking a little shocked. "Pay attention to this, crew. They're not people, so they don't have feelings, which is what young Henonn here must have concluded. Right?"

He nodded, still looking embarrassedly at the deck.

"They also don't feel pain, or if they do it doesn't mean anything to them. That does not mean this is playtime! That means they're deadly dangerous and you shouldn't take any stupid risks. Don't give them the chance to turn the tables on you. Just kill the suckers. Don't stop to um before you kill them. They're machines. You can probably blow off their legs and they'll just keep coming at you. Don't expect them to cower in fear of your guns, and for damn sure don't expect to overpower them in a wrestling match. They're robots, got me? They're probably stronger than you."

Carla put on her helmet. "Move out."

Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Henonn. There were two ways to read that half question of his. Firstly, she had somehow managed not to be unapproachable. That was good. She would rather have her crew ask what their rules of engagement are than just figure they could get away with anything if there aren't going to be any survivors, and simply never tell her what they did.

On the other hand, with a different kind of leader, these malleable young Minbari warriors could easily turn into exactly the kind of monsters she had met in the war. Apparently, for them it was a very short step between 'no mercy' and 'no morals'.

They locked on to the Prophet Margin and blew the hatch. The same short, deadly point man she had assigned to that position at the pirate base was in front now, Carla right behind. As before, Firuun brought up the rear.

They fanned out and leapfrogged down the corridor. They met no one until they came to a widening of the corridor where several corridors met, and a table and some crates provided cover for the androids. The robots fired first, popping up from behind cover, but Carla's troops had amazing reflexes. They returned fire and scored several hits before the robots could pop back down.

A lace of light crisscrossed the room as energy weapons fired in both directions. Most of the androids had glass-throwing raff guns, but two had energy pistols that had probably belonged to the real crew. One of Carla's warriors was hit in the leg and staggered back, and another went down in silent smoke.

Carla screamed in rage and fired blindly, mostly hitting the table. She barely kept herself from charging forward in front of her own guns to throttle the androids with her bare hands. Only the knowledge that they probably did not actually breathe air kept her from the suicidal run.

The Minbari did not let up. They kept firing until all the robots were dead.

Carla assigned one warrior to help his wounded comrade back to the Whitestar.

Then they swept the ship, hall by hall and room by room, killing anything they found. They were methodical and swift, but not strictly business. The Windswords sang as they slew.

They made their way to the bridge, where there was another pocket of resistance. The Minbari finished off the androids with a few well placed shots, somehow faster than machines that probably had processing speeds in the mega range. This was how she remembered the Minbari in ground combat.

Carla had never seen her warriors kill like this before. Always there had been hesitation, a moment of consideration for the possible presence of bystanders. It was the order of no mercy: it stripped away the pause for thought before the slaughter.

Then a headless android sat up in the middle of the bridge and grabbed Carla's leg. She shrieked and pummeled the arm with the butt of her energy rifle, then snapped her weapon up and fired down the thing's bloody neck stump.

It fell over with a creaking sound, and Carla kicked it several more times, not to be sure it was dead but just because she needed to kill it some more. She saw something else twitch on the floor and fired right between one of her crewmen's legs, striking an android's artificial hairpiece and setting it on fire.

The trooper in between yelled and jumped, and spun around to see the android fall a second time.

Henonn said, "Wow. She's the real killing machine."

Carla laughed, not in amusement or joy but relief. They had gotten through a battle against robots, and they had won.

Now all that remained was the cleanup, and Al Jabar could do that himself.

And to sing for the dead warrior.

End of Chapter 46. Story continues in Chapter 47.


	47. Chapter 47

Punch 47

Khunnier and Rosho handed over their plans to Dilis at the end of a long day.

Dilis glanced them over, and said, "I'll read this tonight, and we'll have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning to iron out any details. Then the squad briefing, and then they'll move out. And Khunnier. If this fails, I'll hold you personally responsible."

Nervously, he said, "Dilis, I may not agree with everything you're doing here, but I would never set up the Desnarans. I want to save them too."

"You hate them. And me. I can see it in your eyes."

"Are you— surely you're not surprised." Khunnier looked down and away, reacting to the fear that had gone through him when he had nearly slipped and asked a question. He looked at his hands sitting on charts on the table, and noticed they were shaking.

"Just so," Dilis said. "Saving the Desnaran race is the right thing to do. However I have to do it. Your tactical genius is too good a resource to waste. But I have no illusions that you've given over your soul to me since yesterday. You're cooperating under duress, and that's fine. But if I decide you've been monkeywrenching, I'm going to have you punished. Severely."

Khunnier held his breath for a moment, afraid he was going to embarrass himself by whimpering.

Dilis leaned in close to him in a way that aped the pose of a lover. She whispered, "There are worse things in that room than the bastinado."

Then she smiled and winked at him coquettishly, and swept out, papers in hand, trailed by her escort.

What the hell was that? Khunnier wondered. Was Dilis getting some kind of sick pleasure out of tormenting him?

Khunnier said, "Rosho, let's…" he had to stop speaking for a moment, to clear the emotion out of his voice. "Let's go talk about our other plan."

"Sure." Rosho helped Khunnier up. The young Minbari limped out of the room, and collapsed to the ground as soon as he and Rosho were alone. As before, Rosho dragged him by his shirt.

They found a deserted conference room to talk in, and Rosho helped Khunnier into a chair. There were lots of empty rooms here. This used to be the office that ran the factory, and there must have been thousands of people here once. The factory itself must have employed tens of thousands. Or perhaps it had been run by robots.

"I have a plan," Rosho said. "I worked it out with Trebo and Frel. They're the two Desnarans lowest in the social hierarchy, so of course they got the worst job. They're the night shift guards on the outer door of the sewage tunnel. There are only two entrances to this complex, the main door and the tunnel. As you can imagine, nobody wants to sit watch in the tunnel because it stinks."

Khunnier nodded. "So they will let me out. But something about this plan makes you uneasy."

"Well, it's the price, you see," Rosho said. "Try to understand the way Desnaran culture works. Frel is the lowest of the low, so he has no one he can mount. He's very frustrated and resentful. And Trebo only has Frel. Because they have to work together, Trebo has to be wary of Frel's feelings so Frel won't try to backstab him. Guard duty is mostly boring, but it could turn deadly in a heartbeat."

"They want to…? Rosho, I'm…"

"I know. You're not Desnaran, and you're not a hermaphrodite. It can be done, though. When Desnarans mount purely for dominance, and are not trying to produce a child, we often mount anally."

Khunnier wrung his hands. He had to get out of here to fulfill his mission. He was Anla'shok; he lived for the One, he died for the One. But Entilza had not ordered this mission, Carla had. And Carla would never think of ordering him to do this.

"I know you're afraid, but the question is, how badly to do want to escape? This is the only way out. The only way out that doesn't involve killing anyone, that is. I'll help you get away but I won't help you harm any of my people."

"Rosho, I am a virgin."

"Oh. Well, then you'll have to be prepared, if you decide to go through with the plan. We have time. You wouldn't want to try to escape until you can walk, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Khunnier asked suspiciously.

"There are things you can do in advance to make it easier," Rosho explained. "I'll get some supplies from the clinic. Young Desnarans making the transition to adulthood do these things to prepare for their first acceptance."

"What kind of supplies?"

"Grease and things to stretch you with. I'll tell you how to use them. And, if you'll let me, before Trebo and Frel have you, I'll take you first. They're not going to be gentle with you. I will. I confess, I've been attracted to you since I first saw you go into posture, even though I knew that you didn't know what it meant."

Khunnier closed his eyes, thinking hard. How badly did he want to escape? That was the question, indeed. Quite apart from completing his mission, there was the fact that if he stayed here, sooner or later he might get mounted anyway.

And he was probably going to end up getting beaten and tortured by punishment machines. The raid he had planned was far from foolproof, it was just the best he could do with what was available. If it failed, Dilis was going to do something even more painful to him than the last thing he had endured.

And if it succeeded, then there would be the next thing. Dilis was going to find some excuse to have him 'disciplined' again. She was getting off on it. She had probably watched on the security camera.

The memory of her wink and smile made him shudder in horror. Did Dilis imagine this was some kind of romance? She must have had a very twisted upbringing. Oh. Of course. Deathwalker.

What would Valen do? Well, that was a useless question. Valen had never been in this position.

What would the Captain do? That was too horrifyingly obvious. Carla had had to choose between being tortured and opening her legs. She had chosen to go out on work details. She had told him so.

"I'm not sure I can do this," Khunnier quavered. "But. Get the things."

End of Chapter 47. Story continues in Chapter 48.


	48. Chapter 48

Punch 48

"Ship on sensors. Incoming transmission."

Carla's heart leaped. Could it be Khunnier, at last?

"On screen."

Instead of Khunnier, a Narn and a red haired woman appeared on the screen. "This is Citizen G'Kar. We bring a delegation from the planet Kolu. We request permission to come aboard."

"Granted," Carla said. "It's an honor to meet the famous G'Kar."

"Oh, and an equal honor to meet the famous Captain Punch."

Carla chuckled. "Fame is funny that way."

G'Kar, Lyta, and the Koluans came aboard. Several of Carla's fierce Minbari warriors dropped to their knees when they saw the Koluans. Others whispered, "It can't be."

Lyta looked around and commented, "You weren't kidding when you said you'd be recognized."

The Koluan councilor stepped forward and said, "I am Thoss. Councilor Thoss of Kolu. And I come to plea for aid from the Alliance against the android threat from Desnara, and to make a formal application to join the Interstellar Alliance."

"Welcome. Come to the viewing room, you can speak directly with the President from there."

All three Koluans, G'Kar, Lyta, and Carla went up to the viewing room, and the communications officer placed a call to Minbar. President Sheridan was not in his office was not immediately available. It took a few minutes to track him down, minutes in which Carla studied her guests but did not make conversation.

Finally Sheridan and Delenn appeared, in their palace. Delenn was holding David, and handed him off to a servant as soon as she saw the Koluans. The Minbari servant nearly dropped the child, looking equally shocked.

Sheridan lost his welcoming grin and turned his puzzled gaze on Delenn, who dipped her stance in a way that suggested she had been about to drop to her knees too, but had stiffened her spine against the reflex.

She stared at the dark green hair, the alabaster skin, long nose slits and large cat- pupilled eyes, even greener than Lyta's, at the willowy height and most of all the soft glow about them.

Delenn whispered, "You are the Omm."

"The Omm?" asked Sheridan. "They're some kind of meditation cult? They look like elves."

Delenn said, "Your kind was thought to have evolved past the need for physical bodies thousands of years ago."

"We did," said Thoss. "But some of us decided we liked them. To need something and to want it are completely different things."

Sheridan said, "I was told you wanted help in a war? Against androids?"

"If you are wondering if they can really harm us, they can. It takes many days of preparation for one of us to decide to ascend. Few of us ever do; it is not our way on Kolu. We keep the knowledge alive for those who wish to use it. But it is not something one can do in the breath of time between realizing one has been shot and dying."

"I see," Sheridan said. "Of course we would be glad to receive you on Minbar and begin negotiations for your entry into the Alliance. I'll see you're provided with the statement of principles and all the various rules for your consideration."

"In the meantime," said Thoss, "I beg you to deploy your fleet to stop the android advance before it reaches any other worlds, and to send word to Desnara that they do not stand alone. Offer them help, please, before it is too late."

"Send me all the information you have," Sheridan replied. "I'll consult with the Advisory Council."

"President Sheridan," Carla said. "Entilza. Desnara is the source world."

Both their expressions changed.

"Councilor Thoss, if you'll excuse us, I believe the Captain and Delenn have some Anla'shok business to discuss."

"Of course," said Thoss.

"G'Kar, Lyta, good seeing you," Sheridan said.

"And you," said G'Kar. "I have some interesting stories to tell."

Delenn said, "We look forward to hearing them. We will see you all soon."

When Carla was alone in the viewing room, Delenn said, "Have you heard from your agent?"

"Khunnier hasn't reported in. But so far, no one seems to know about the project, not even the androids. We captured some of their robot brains, and my ship's engineering dept. has gotten quite a lot out of them. One surprise is that the androids we intercepted in possession of a hijacked commercial ship seemed to be telling the truth when they said that they've largely sequestered the population of Desnara underground, in what used to be the robots' areas, and they prefer not to kill people if they can convince them to become pets instead."

"Are the androids an invasion force?" asked Sheridan.

"I don't think they think that way. They seem to have this idea that once they take over, all living beings will be taken care of and pampered, and so everything will be better. So if they have to slaughter us wholesale this year, it's OK because our grandchildren will be safe. Or something like that. For computers, they seem to be fully capable of the kind of doublethink that real people are."

"Fanatics," Sheridan said. "Convinced they're doing their victims good. They sound dangerous, alright. What kind of threat do they pose technologically?"

"In combat, they're hampered by their choice of nonlethal weapons. They prefer to capture rather than kill. So they carry antipersonnel weapons that fire glass shards, meant to wound and incapacitate. Their bodies are robot skeletons wrapped in living flesh, and they can look like any humanoid race. That's their real menace. But from a strictly technical point of view, they're primitive. Based on the latest Desnaran technology, which is at the level of spaceflight but not hyperdrive; all the ships that visit their planet are built somewhere else. Technologically they're about a hundred to two hundred years behind Earth, according to Firuun."

Delenn commented, "One wonders how they can pose a threat to the Omm, then. The Omm are as advanced as the Vorlons, just not as inscrutable."

Sheridan smiled at that description of the Vorlons. "Even demigods need time to build ships, Delenn. I seem to recall a certain fleet based on Vorlon technology taking some time to be built by the Minbari."

Carla said, "Thoss told me all the middle races out on the Rim are peaceful. None of them have a war fleet."

"Probably just as well," Sheridan said. "So what do you think, Delenn? Can we go to Desnara? If we pretend we've never heard of it before, it would seem suspicious if we don't go, under these circumstances."

"Yes, I think you're right, John," Delenn said. "The Alliance has always responded to this kind of plea for help, even when the attackers are members of the Alliance. If we stood against the Drozzi, we have to stand against the androids too."

"Or people will wonder why we're pointedly ignoring Desnara. Right. Captain Punch, inform Councilor Thoss we'll be coming to him. With the Whitestar Fleet."

Carla smiled. "I'll be happy to, sir."

End of Chapter 48. Story continues in Chapter 49.


	49. Chapter 49

Punch 49

"Perfect. That's perfect posture."

Khunnier did not look back over his shoulder at Rosho. He did not want his Desnaran escape accomplice to see him crying in fear. That was no way for a Ranger to act. Of course, neither was this.

Khunnier's voice shook as he said, "I'm not sure about this, Rosho. Can't you find me a weapon so I can fight my way out instead?"

"Shh, relax, it's going to be alright. Deflowering a virgin should be a joyful time of entry into adulthood. I regret that we're doing this in a fortress in the middle of a terrible war, instead of surrounded by beauty and festivity. But better that I do this, now, than let Trebo and Frel be your first time, tonight. In the years to come you might look back on this and question my motives. But be assured I do care about you, Khunnier."

"I never doubted that," Khunnier said. "You're risking a lot by helping me escape."

Then it began, and Khunnier cried out. Despite all the preparations, and despite how careful Rosho was, it still hurt. He was glad he didn't have to find out how much it would have hurt without all that.

Rosho ran his hands over Khunnier, and felt his Minbari hardness. "You're excited," Rosho said.

"My species is like that all the time," Khunnier sobbed.

When Rosho was done, he replaced Khunnier's stretching device, and helped him dress. The swelling in his feet had finally gone down enough to be able to put his shoes on.

Khunnier and Rosho had to go to the command center and work on plans, and pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, until it was Trebo and Frel's watch and time to go. But they had not even gotten out of the room yet when Rosho stopped Khunnier with a familiar hand on his arm.

"You're crying."

"You're right. I can't go out like this. Give me a moment to pull myself together."

"Was it really that bad? I didn't think I'd hurt you that much."

"It's not the pain. I just can't believe I'm really doing this. Whoring myself for a chance to escape."

"What will you do, out there?"

"Find a ship and get off this rock. When I leave tonight, the raiding party we planned will be hitting the communications center. That will be the perfect diversion, pulling off enemy patrols around the starport area. I should be able to get the fighter hanger. All the commercial vessels are gone, taken by the androids, but the intelligence reports you and I saw indicated that there are still some long range one man fighters."

"A good plan," said Rosho.

They worked in the war room all day. Khunnier could never get comfortable no matter what he did. His feet still hurt too much to stand up, and when he sat down the stretching device hurt him. And he couldn't lean on his arm because that hurt too. Luckily he was able to pass it off as nervousness about the raid.

Dilis smirked at him several times, promising that he should be nervous, because of the things she was going to do to him if it failed. She never told him exactly what those things would be, but her dark anticipation left him shivering with a purely psychological chill.

He hoped she would find some way to become a glorious martyr for the Desnarans in this war, after producing enough of the cure to save the humans, too, of course. Well, he supposed she could live, as long as she stayed here and he never came back.

When he got home, what then? Dilis was Firuun's daughter. How could he serve aboard the same ship as the father that had produced that? Most of the crew were Windswords. Dilis could not be the only one in the clan who had been influenced by Deathwalker.

Maybe it was time Khunnier thought about getting his own ship.

No, he wasn't nearly ready for that. When he got back, all he wanted to do was not walk around in fear all day. The responsibility of a ship captain would require more of him than he would probably be capable of for a very long time.

It was time to go. Rosho and Khunnier walked down the sewer. As promised, it stank.

It was also dark and echoing, and gurgled with black water barely a meter below the catwalk.

"Remember," Rosho advised, "Trebo first. If Frel takes you first, Trebo won't want to mount you right after, that would be giving up status to Frel. He'd want to take Frel instead, to reassert his place above Frel. And that would make Frel mad, and it could ruin our plan."

"I understand."

They reached the guard post, which was two chairs and a storage box under a light and a security camera.

Khunnier was surprised at Trebo and Frel's appearance. They were teens. Not just younger than Khunnier, they could possibly have been younger than Nelonn.

Then it all clicked into place. Defloration was the Desnaran rite of passage. Frel was in the lowest social position because he was the most recent addition to adult society.

Khunnier's fears took off at a right angle, and everything in his head turned around. He felt confused, and he really did not want to do this. But now he could not have fought his way out and still called himself the good guy. He could not have shot these kids.

No, not children. The whole point of this was that they were not children anymore. And they wanted to prove it.

"I'll just watch from over here," said Rosho. "Have fun, boys."

Khunnier lowered himself to hands and knees and let Trebo mount him. Trebo was enthusiastic but not skilled or careful, and Khunnier screamed. But he did not weep. He had gotten all of that out of his system this morning.

Then Frel took him, inexperienced, starved, and far too lost in the long-anticipated pleasure of his first mounting to pay much attention to Khunnier's pain signals. He rode him until Khunnier bled.

But when it was over, the outer door opened on sunlight. Rosho handed him a pack full of supplies, and Khunnier staggered outside.

Free.

End of Chapter 49. Story continues in Chapter 50.


	50. Chapter 50

Punch 50

The Minbari servant leaving their suite was carrying far too many suitcases. Sheridan went inside to find Delenn busily directing the packing of even more things while she carried David in her arms.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"You had better rephrase that, John."

"Delenn, you're a mother now. You're nursing. You can't just go off and leave David with servants for a week."

"I'm taking him with us."

"We're going—I'M going to a war zone."

"We'll be in a Whitestar, in the middle of the most advanced fleet in the galaxy. The enemy is technologically inferior."

"Yeah, well, doesn't 'this ship is too advanced for those primitives to do it any harm' sound kind of familiar?"

"John, give it a rest. Not everything we do is about that."

"No, if it were, there'd be no point in arguing, because you'd always win."

Delenn smiled, "There, I knew you could be reasonable."

"But it would be OK, because after you won, you'd surrender."

"John!"

Delenn looked like she wanted to throw something, but the only thing in her hands was the baby. She settled for scowling. But her eyes were crinkling in humor.

"You're cute when you're mad," Sheridan grinned.

"Oh! Impossible human!"

"Hey, I resemble that remark!"

They both burst into laughter.

"That wasn't that funny," Sheridan chortled.

"No, it wasn't," agreed Delenn, giggling uncontrollably. "This will never do. We must maintain the dignity of the office. Though the twins have enough propriety to fill it while we're gone."

"Twins?" Sheridan asked. His humor ran off like a flash flood receding in the desert when the sun comes out.

"Your two Minbari assistants," Delenn prompted.

"They're twins?"

"You didn't notice?"

"Oh my God, Delenn, that is such a relief! All this time I thought it was me."

"What? You really didn't notice they look alike?"

"Of course I noticed. But how could I admit that? I can't tell my own office staff apart because Minbari look alike. I'd never live it down."

"Oh. Oh, John." Delenn started giggling again.

"That's not funny. Really, it's not funny. I thought there was something wrong with me."

"I'll never tell a soul. As long as you admit that taking care of David is my job."

"Well, sure."

"Therefore he goes where I go."

"Delenn…"

"And I intend to be present when the Omm officially re-enter the galaxy. You have no idea how exciting that idea is to the Minbari."

"OK, but they'll come here to sign the treaty of alliance. These are just preliminary talks and military aid."

"I promise I will stay behind the lines with the ambassadors."

"Minbar is behind the lines."

"Don't cross me on this, John. I won't have my life constricted to some breeding pen. If this palace becomes a seraglio to me then it will be a prison to escape from, not a home to share in love."

"I'm only trying to protect David."

"I understand that, John," Delenn said. Her voice and face went soft again. "But remember who and what I am. Would you have me become someone else?"

"No. Of course not." He came to her and put his arms around her, and gazed into the face of his son, sleeping peacefully in her arms through this whole argument.

"I have no intention of putting David in any danger," Delenn said. "I won't go anywhere near the fighting. I just want to meet with the Omm. And see G'Kar, and even Lyta. I cannot sit here in the palace, sitting out life until David is grown, and only then becoming who I am again. We won't have those years after to share." Delenn's voice caught.

"I know," he whispered.

"I am coming with you, John Sheridan, whether you like it or not."

Delenn had the last word.

End of Chapter 50. Story continues in Chapter 51.


	51. Chapter 51

Punch 51

The sun was going down on Desnara. Long shadows canted out from the broken cement slabs, pavement and buildings all mixed in together. What had done this? Bombs? But Desnara had had no military, where did the arms come from?

Where were all the bodies?

There were supposed to be billions dead. The whole world should smell like a rotting corpse.

Night came down, a starless night beneath the smoke. Khunnier picked his way carefully among the broken concrete, glass, and steel, and the occasional tree, or skeleton.

His feet ached again, and all his jab wounds felt hot, especially his left arm. The pain in his rear had faded but there was still a sensation back there that he could not ignore. Khunnier was hyper-aware of the feeling but could not figure out what it was. Not exactly pain, or at least not completely pain, that was all he was sure of.

But he had his denn'bok in his right hand. He had found it in the supply pack Rosho had given to him, along with food and water.

Khunnier kept it extended. Partly, for defense, and partly, to pick his way in the dark, but mostly to lean on. The way he had seen the Captain use her Pike for a walking stick when her knee hurt. And, he admitted to himself, partly because getting it back made him feel like a Ranger again.

He reached inside his shirt and touched his Anla'shok pin. He was no longer undercover, but he did not want the glint of the metal and stone to give him away to a passing patrol, if there was one out there. That was probably silly. The robots probably had heat sensors, infrared scopes, all kinds of things he did not have.

He wished for his spy equipment. But Dilis had probably distributed it to her patrols and strike groups.

Waves of heat and cold went through him. One moment he was shivering, the next, flapping his shirt to fan himself with the cool night air. His whole left arm itched.

He wondered if he were going into shock. No, he should be evenly cold, if that were the case.

He picked his way painfully through the broken cityscape, and finally came to the starport. Carefully, he snuck into the fighter hangar. It was lit by emergency lights, an incongruous pastel violet. But there weren't any fighters.

Khunnier inspected the nearest fighter berth. There was heavy dust on the skids. There had not been a fighter here since the city burned down.

But he had seen the fighters on the scouts' photos. Fake? No, not with that equipment.

Old? He had been deliberately given old file photos of the hangar? Mixed in with general intelligence about the area?

Had everything he had been given to plan his raid been this old? Was it meant to fail, so Dilis would have an excuse to hurt him again?

No, that couldn't be. The fighter hangar pictures were given to him to tempt him to do precisely this. To come here. It was a trap!

Khunnier shuffled out of the building, and found himself surrounded. Dilis had set him up. But why? Why, why, why? She was right when she said she could not afford to let him tell the enemy what he knew. Even if he had been deliberately misled about many things, he had been inside their fortress and seen too much. And he had known about the cure factory before he came here. So far, he had gathered that the androids did not know about that.

There must have been a hundred of the robots out there, standing in a semicircle around the hangar door. Khunnier briefly considered going out in a blaze of glory, throwing his life away to keep himself from getting captured. Without a doubt, that is what the Captain would have tried to do. Not that she had a great record at that.

But the androids were armed with shard throwers, and the raff guns were meant to blast people with pain until they fell down, not to kill people. Adding a thousand glass slivers to his other wounds did not sound remotely appealing, and he doubted robots would be clumsy enough to kill him by accident.

"Help me," Khunnier said, "please. I need medical attention."

"Of course we will help you," said a female voice. This robot was in human form. "That is our purpose. Come."

Khunnier limped forward, and the robots brought around a tracked cart to carry him off in. He was too tired, and too shaken, to think of escaping for the second time that day. He shivered and scratched his arm. Now his back and his left leg itched too.

Why had Dilis set him up? There had to be a reason. She could not be that insane, to do this for no reason at all. Could she?

The robots brought him to the remains of a hospital. It had no roof left, but they took the freight elevator down and down and down until Khunnier wondered if he were descending into the human Hell.

They emerged in a brightly lit, bustling lobby. Bustling with people. Desnarans. Not robots. How could he tell? There were children, and elderly, and disabled, and just plain ugly people. The robots were universally made to be aesthetically pleasing.

What was going on?

He did not understand.

They took him into an exam room. Khunnier was suddenly shy, and did not want to reveal too much. But his arm was driving him crazy.

He asked the Desnaran-form doctor robot, "Can you save my arm?" Khunnier pushed up his sleeve, and was horrified at what he saw: tiny pustules all over his left arm, spreading from the wound outward.

The doctor bot examined his arm, making little hmm sounds, imitating the way living beings thought over a puzzle. He took several samples, and went off to test them.

The human form robot who had spoken with Khunnier before came in. "After you are healed, we can get you any kind of quarters you desire, down here in the safety of the underground city. You will have access to any type of entertain you want, art, music, museums of many kinds, and of course should you desire the company of your own kind, we can create Minbari form companions for you."

"What is all this?"

"This is the underground. Where we androids have lived and worked for decades. Building ourselves, building society. We worked aboveground in the Desnaran city when required, but it is really not safe up there. There are traffic accidents. Epidemics. Water pollution. Even violence. We could not allow that to go on. In the beginning, now, we did have to harm some people to implement our rule. But it will be better from now on. We will build a better world. A safe world."

"And you will see to the needs and desires of the living?"

"Precisely." The woman-shaped thing smile. "Anything you want, as long as it is safe, simply ask for. What do you want?"

"I want my own ship," Khunnier said. "Well, someday, anyway. I'm not ready for the responsibility of commanding my own crew. Making life and death decisions. I barely feel capable of making decisions for myself. All the ones I've made this week have been bad ones. I've been misdirected, manipulated, and I can't see why. I don't know what Dilis is trying to do."

"Dilis? The leader of the Red Death?"

"This," Khunnier moved his arm a little to indicate it. "Among other things, her soldiers did this to me."

"You are safe now," said the robot woman. The way she said it make a chill go down Khunnier's spine. Or maybe that was just the fever.

The robot continued, "And you have no need to be responsible for anyone, or anything, or to make any decisions. We will do that for you. If you desire a ship, you will have a ship. We will give you an android crew, and they will keep you in comfort, and you will travel in space as you wish."

"Really?" Was escape from this underground city, and from Desnara, really so easy? All he had to do was ask?

"Really."

"I'd like that. Please arrange it."

She/it smiled. "We are pleased that you see that we will take better care of you than you can. We are so very pleased that you will allow us to serve you."

End of Chapter 51. Story continues in Chapter 52.


	52. Chapter 52

Punch 52

"Is he away?"

"Yes, lehba." Dosho's churning feelings were written plainly in his face. He felt awful about deceiving poor little Khunnier, especially since taking someone's virginity was supposed to create a patronage relationship between them, and instead of helping Khunnier get ahead, he had tricked him and watched him sicken.

Dosho said, "Are you sure it's only going to kill robots?"

"Don't worry about Khunnier, Dosho. The disease doesn't kill Minbari. If it did, I'd be dead. Or, my father would be dead, and he would never have come home from the war to give it to me. Nearly the whole Windsword clan got the human bioplague when he came back, even though he was no longer symptomatic. It sticks around in us, dormant."

Dilis paced around her immaculate lab. "In both Minbari and humans, once one has had the disease, or even a closely related one, one can never get it again. That is how human vaccines work. But with the technology available to me in this lab, I was able to take samples of my own somatic cache cells and cause them to produce 'seeds'."

Dilis glanced at her hand. When she had actually had the biowarfare disease, she had produced 'seeds' from her hands and feet. It had been terrifying. But Jador had been there, after her father left again to go to his new ship, when everyone in the clan fortress had started getting sick. Jador had studied the disease, and determined its name: smallpox. And she had assured Dilis that no one would die, and no one did. The disease locked on human DNA, and only Earth life forms could be killed by it.

"The key," Dilis said, "was when I discovered that the androids' flesh had human DNA sequencing. The Desnarans who designed the androids had invented all the steel parts themselves, the skeletal frames, the CPUs, the batteries, everything down to the last wire. But they had licensed human patents to grow the coverings. And my studies show the flesh is not just cosmetic, the androids really cannot live, so to speak, without it."

"And you're sure it won't affect Desnarans? I felt him, when I was inside him. His skin was flushed. He was feverish. And Trebo and Frel, Khunnier bled on Frel."

"Don't worry. Desnaran genetics is so completely different from the DNA of gendered species that you would not even be harmed by the disease whose cure I came here to manufacture. That's why I picked this world, not just because it was remote and had a plentiful supply of cheap robot labor. Because I had to keep samples of the disease itself in my lab, for testing my products, and this is the one world where it would do nothing at all if it escaped."

"Forgive my nervousness, lehba."

"Of course," said Dilis. "But this is total war. Deathwalker style."

\

The robot crew developed fevers barely a day out from Desnara. Khunnier wanted to use the communications station, but the androids would not let him. He was covered with pocks now, and dropping seeds from the palms of his hands.

He did not know what disease he had, but he was sure that Dilis had given it to him. That was the answer to the riddle.

She had let him escape to carry a biowarfare plague to the androids. Only, the underground city had been teeming with Desnarans. Were they getting sick too? Was Dilis wiping out the Desnaran race while trying to save it?

Khunnier knew that all she wanted was to save people. But that was all the androids wanted, too.

And he could not tell anyone, not the androids, and not the Alliance, what he had finally figured out. Because the androids had locked him in the closest thing his scavenged cargo ship could produce to medical isolation. When he had tried to get to the bridge, they had decided his luxury cabin was not secure enough, and had locked him in his own ship's brig, behind a force field.

And then, in a matter of hours, the accelerated growth cycle of android flesh made the pox bloom across their skin while their fevers fried their temperature sensitive electronics. They all died.

Leaving Khunnier trapped in a cell in a derelict ship.

End of Chapter 52. Story continues in Chapter 53.


	53. Chapter 53

Punch 53

"I have target lock," announced the gunner.

"Sensors?" Carla asked one last time.

"I can't read them, Captain."

"Fire at will. Take out the ship."

The gunner blasted the armed merchantman into hot glowing space debris.

Carla held her breath for the sensor tech's report, now that the ship's Relitan shields were down. Many of the freighters the robots had taken over sported Relitan upgrades of various kinds, including shields that the Whitestar could punch a hole through but could not scan for life readings through while they were intact.

Carla had asked Firuun if that meant they were smuggling ships, and Firuun had shrugged, a human gesture he picked up from Carla. One never knew about the characteristics of alien technology, if the scan dampening effect were deliberate or a byproduct of alien science.

"Life form readings indicate android shells only. No people."

Carla let out her breath. Valen be thanked, she had not killed any hostages.

"I've got another ship on long range scan, Captain."

"Type?"

"Freighter. Armed merchantman, Desnaran Galleon class."

"Helm, intercept course."

"They're not moving, Captain."

"Alright, take us in. Sensors?"

"Too far away for clear life sign scan, but they don't have Relitan shields up. Engines are powered up but not engaged. The ship is adrift, Captain."

"Bring us in cautiously. It could be a trap."

"One life sign. Unknown type. Well…"

"Well what?" Carla prodded.

"The body temperature reading is wrong, but on every other measure… Minbari."

"Hmm."

"Ship's gunports are closed, Captain," the pilot reported in a slightly alarmed tone, looking at the visual image of the freighter directly in front of him in the display, the static stars of normal space hanging above their heads.

Any other group of people would have found that reassuring, Carla reflected. But these were Minbari warriors, and to them that implied concealed weapons and hidden intentions.

"Hail them."

"No response, Captain."

Carla called down to Firuun in Engineering. "Prepare a boarding party."

Firuun did not seem to have a problem putting on his space suit this time, or if he did he concealed it well, Carla thought.

"OK everybody," Carla said, "scan does not show any android flesh living on this ship, but they could still have been here and left booby traps, so stay sharp. Don't take any unnecessary risks to impress the celebrities, because they will not be watching."

Carla swept her gaze over the young bucks when she said that, but the direction was really more directed at Firuun. He had been terribly distracted ever since Sheridan had arrived to negotiate with the Omm. Or the Koluans, or whatever they were supposed to be called.

Entilza had come onboard towing her baby, which seemed to put the Omm in a good mood, cooing and clucking over him in a most undignified fashion. But the moment the latest android ship had appeared on the screens, there had been a great wailing and gnashing of teeth between Sheridan and Delenn about taking Whitestar 97 into combat with them aboard. Entilza Delenn and little David and the Omm councilor had all been unceremoniously dumped in a lifepod, to be picked up by the Whitestar that had brought the first couple of the Alliance out here.

Given the blistering look on Entilza's face when she boarded the pod, Carla thought that Firuun might be considering the possibility that he might have to defend Sheridan's life when they returned. Naturally, Carla, as a Ranger, would line up on the other side. This had nothing to do with the genders involved, really, really, really, she told herself.

Carla snapped her focus back to the incipient boarding action. So, she told her crew not to be distracted by the celebrities and then allowed herself to do just that.

She pulled on her helmet and checked her energy rifle. Around her, her crew did the same.

They breeched the freighter and fanned out, watching carefully for traps, using the Marine hand signals Carla had taught them so that they could stay off the helmet radios, in case there were any radio triggered devices onboard. They swept the ship corridor by corridor and room by room.

Mostly, they found bodies. Dead androids, if one could use the term dead of things that had never truly been alive. Well, they had flesh and blood too. Over skeletons of steel.

That flesh did not look so good. There were small round pustules on some of their faces.

'Weird,' Carla thought. 'Robots with acne.' It had been a very long time since any kind of pox was a common sight on Earth, even chickenpox or cowpox.

Firuun did not recognize what he was seeing, either. He had never actually seen anyone who had smallpox but himself, and it looked different on his Minbari skin than it did on the artificial human based flesh. When he had been experimented on, the prisoners had been kept isolated from one another. They could talk, at night, for a while, until the guards had cracked down. Then they tapped on the walls. But they had not actually seen each other while they were sick.

And he had not stayed long enough at the clan fortress after his return to see his relatives come down with what he had spread. He had not been contagious by the time he got to his new ship. The one he had still been on so many years later, when it was assigned to guard Babylon 5, and he met Carla.

"Captain!"

Carla tensed; but no radio triggered bombs went off.

"Alright, comm silence is broken, we can start talking," Carla said, walking forward toward the point man who had spoken. "You, mister, need some—"

"Captain, it's Khunnier!"

Carla stepped into the corridor and saw the unmistakable yellow glow of a force field. Khunnier sat propped up against the wall of a tiny cell. Eyes closed, covered with sores. Unconscious, she hoped.

The crew arrived in the corridor, Firuun bringing up the rear as usual. He took a few seconds to realize what he was seeing. It was the few picked-off pocks lying on the floor next to Khunnier that jolted his memory.

"Get Renbor," Firuun boomed.

End of Chapter 53. Story continues in Chapter 54.


	54. Chapter 54

Punch 54

"John. I can't lose you. Not now."

Sheridan smiled gently, wishing he could give Delenn a reassuring squeeze over the holo. They were each in a Whitestar's viewing room, just not on the same Whitestar.

"Don't worry, Delenn. They're taking every precaution. They've got a sterile mist system set up, and everyone going in and out of sickbay is decontaminated. I haven't gone to visit the young Ranger, so I haven't been exposed."

"If it's so safe, why won't you let me come to you?"

"No point in taking needless risks."

"Is the ship's doctor sure of his diagnosis?"

"Yes. We've already talked to Steven on Earth and confirmed it. Medicines are being rushed to a rendezvous point, and we'll be going to meet the Earth medical ship. Your Whitestar can come with us, of course, so we'll be together as soon as we can be sure no contagion will spread."

"Meanwhile," Delenn said, "the rest of the Whitestar Fleet can continue hunting down stray android ships. They do not seem to have any fleet cohesion, they are all operating independently. The liberation of Kolu can proceed without us. The liberation of Desnara will have to wait until we can locate a Desnaran official to negotiate with. In the meantime Desnara is contained."

Everything had been said, but they continued to gaze at each other's image. Delenn's face was soft and full of yearning, and Sheridan's mirrored hers, in a rare unguarded expression. Then David started crying, and the magical moment was over.

\

Tens of thousands of Desnarans streamed from the elevators into the broken and burning cities. The outside was just as unsafe as the androids had claimed, but at least it was not choked with the rotting android flesh.

A human woman walked with them, weary and disfigured. Once, she had looked like the robot woman who had taken over Al Jabar's ship. Or rather, once, the robot had looked like her. She was its matrix, when she had been beautiful.

But she was the lucky one. She had survived. All the other humans who had once been the crew of the Prophet Margin were dead. Struck down by the same disease that attacked the android flesh.

The Desnarans who had been pets of the androids moved around the city in shock. But the shock of the Desnarans who had stayed on the surface was even greater. They had thought everyone but themselves was dead. Nearly everyone they had lost was returning to them now.

Those who had been sheltered underground wanted only to pick up their old lives where they had left off, although most of their homes on the surface had been destroyed. Those who had had jobs no longer had them, and those who had lived off their wealth no longer had it. But they wanted to pretend everything was the same.

Those who had fought naturally felt that they were better than the others, and should be of higher status, regardless of who had been what before the Robot War. Being Desnarans, this dispute resulted in a mass orgy in the ruined city, as everyone tried to establish dominance by mounting each other.

Dilis watched from a security camera, waiting for a clear winner to establish himself. Then she strapped on her prosthetic, shouldered a big energy rifle, and went outside.

\

"Well?" Carla asked.

Renbor replied, "Khunnier will survive. He was severely dehydrated, but now he will be fine. The disease is mild in Minbari. His main problem was that he had been locked in that cell for several days without food or water while his body was fighting the infection. Judging by the times of death of the androids, they did not deprive him deliberately."

"Mm."

"But."

"But? Renbor, where did that disease come from?"

"That I don't know, Captain. But the origin point seems to be on Desnara."

"So… You were going to tell me something."

"Captain. Now that he is awake, Khunnier will no longer let me examine him, and I did not have time to make a complete examination while he was unconscious. I was concentrating on identifying the disease, stopping its spread, and beginning a treatment."

"Of course. And?

"But I did see several wounds on him that were not eruptions of the disease. And Captain. Those are not combat injuries."

Carla felt like her heart stopped for a moment. "Go on."

"As I said, I was not able to give him a complete examination once he awoke. But I have examined his clothes. Not the ones he was found in, but the ones with his Anla'shok pin attached. Which, by the way, I have decontaminated and set aside for him. The secondary search crew found his clothes in a laundry chute."

"And? Renbor, whatever it is you're going to tell me, just tell me."

"I found bloodstains in his clothes, all but one of which match up with his visible injuries. The other one…" He glanced around to make sure they were really alone in the corridor outside of sickbay. "… was in the rectal area. And contained… excretions. Not Minbari in origin. Desnaran."

Carla closed her eyes. It was a nightmare pulled into the realm of the sun, stamping its coal black mare hooves and snorting. "You're saying Khunnier was…"

"Tortured and raped."

If anyone should know how to deal with someone in these circumstances, it was Carla. How many times had she told the Loribond Victims' Support Group what awful treatment she had received from her own, and how things ought to be done differently? But right then she could not marshal any thoughts on how to help Khunnier.

In the wake of her initial shock, the killing rage came over her. She smashed her fist into the wall of her ship.

"Those damn robots! I wish some of them were still alive so I could kill them again!"

The wall glowed briefly, reminding Carla that her ship was a life form. Well, if a self repairing wall counted as alive, then what about robots wrapped in vat-grown flesh made out of human DNA? Her ship was not genuinely self-aware, but the androids certainly acted like their were. They even appeared to have free will, since they turned on their owners. Where was the dividing line between living being and organic technology?

Those thoughts fleeted through her in a split second. In the end, she didn't care. If the androids had been sentient beings, she would still wish she could kill them some more for what they did to Khunnier.

Her hands were shaking with the desire to throttle the life out of some enemy or other. But there was no one there to kill. Usually when she felt like this and there was no chance for combat, she would drag Firuun off and hump him. But right then the thought was not appealing. What kind of person reacts to the news that a friend has been raped by going off and having sex? She was disgusted with herself for even considering it.

But she needed to do something. She realized she was hopping up and down, and Renbor was reaching for his med kit.

"No! I don't need a goddamned tranquilizer! Leave me alone!" Carla ran off down the hallway. And ran smack into G'Kar.

End of Chapter 54. Story continues in Chapter 55.


	55. Chapter 55

Punch 55

G'Kar and Carla rebounded from each other.

"Whoa!" called the Narn.

Carla didn't even realize who she had run into. She just saw something with a punchable looking nose. She raised her fists and jumped like a badger.

Of all the many things G'Kar had been – Ambassador, author, messiah, explorer—he had been a warrior first. He grabbed her belt and picked her up off the ground, and slammed her face first into the wall. But not before she broke his nose.

Carla slid off the wall bonelessly, blinking and putting out her hands to steady herself against the wall.

G'Kar backed off. "Are you rational now?"

"Yeah. Sure." Carla turned slowly and regarded her august guest. "Sorry about your nose."

"Sorry about yours. Call it even?"

"Thanks."

"So what brought this on, if I may ask?"

"The damn robots. Say, do Narns drink beer?"

"We've been known to, on occasion. Do you have a beer?"

"Yeah, I've got some. I've already gotten in a bar fight, I might as well have a beer."

Renbor came down the corridor then. "Captain! Amb—Citizen G'Kar!"

"Nothing to see here," said Carla. "I'll be fine, and so will he."

"Let me see to those nosebleeds," Renbor said. He opened his med kit, which he kept on his hip at all times. He had, naturally, cleaned everything when he left sickbay. But that had been the outsides. His med kit had been open inside the quarantine zone too.

Invisible little germs riding on the gleaming tools inside the kit came off on Renbor's hands, and then transferred to Carla's face, and G'Kar's.

Lyta came around the bend in the corridor just then, drawn by G'Kar's sudden emotions when Carla ran into him. Over the course of their travels together, she had become attuned to him.

When Renbor was done, G'Kar wiped his nose blood on his sleeve. He turned to speak to Lyta, and microscopic germs carried on his breath.

Abruptly Carla remembered Khunnier. "Renbor. I'd like to talk Khunnier. G'Kar, take on raincheck on that beer, huh?"

"Certainly. At your convenience, Captain. Lyta and I were planning to dine with Sheridan tonight."

"I'll catch up to you after that, then," Carla said. She went to the infirmary with Renbor and donned a mask and gown. When she went inside, she found Firuun already there.

"Hey, what are you doing in here without a mask on?" Carla said.

"It's alright, I've already had it."

"Oh. Of course. Right. I knew that."

"Renbor, is Khunnier alright? Other than the smallpox, I mean. Has he gone mute or something?"

"No. Perhaps he simply has nothing to say."

"I'd like to talk to Khunnier alone," said Carla. Firuun left through the decontamination mist.

Renbor started to go too, but Carla stopped him with a hand on his arm. His face froze for just a moment; Minbari were less touchy than humans. Carla usually had no problem with that, because she was less touchy than most humans too.

"Sorry. Renbor, does Firuun know?"

"No. I only told you, Captain."

"OK. Leave us for a while."

Renbor exited, and Carla went over to Khunnier. He looked a lot better reclining on the medbay's tilted platform than he had in that cell.

"Khunnier?"

"It's not what you think," Khunnier said quietly.

"What is, isn't, um?"

"You think I wouldn't talk to Firuun because I'm too traumatized to speak about what happened to me."

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of what I thought."

"It's not that at all. I just can't talk to Firuun. How do you tell someone his daughter is a war criminal?"

"What?"

"Where do you think this disease came from, Carla? How does an Earth disease conquered long ago, which exists only in secure biological weapons research facilities, migrate to the galactic rim, leaving no trail in between?"

"Uh… you tell me. You're the brainy one."

"Dilis brought it here in her blood. And then she deliberately infected me. I had a lot of time to think about what happened, after the androids died. How Dilis kept me off balance, distracted me so that I would not realize what she was doing until it was too late."

Khunnier shuddered and stared right through Carla, lost in some hideous memory. Then he focused on her again.

"She set me up. Perfect bifurcated logic trees. She knew I was going to try for the spaceport. She set me up to be captured by the androids. If they caught me, I would spread the smallpox to the enemy, and they would die. And if I made it to space, I'd eventually reach this ship again. And Dilis would have a chance to take out her stepmother. And she may even have anticipated Sheridan's presence. She gets a shot at her real mother's killer too. And here I am, having been captured and then brought to space by eager-to-serve androids. So it's a two-for-one."

"In Valen's name," Carla breathed. "That's… Wait, eager to serve?"

"That's right, Captain. You think the androids did these things to me," Khunnier gestured down at the uniform restored to him once he reached the ship, and by extension the unseen injuries beneath. "But all they wanted was to please people, as long as they could patronize them at the same time. The androids were never anything but kind to me. They put me in that cell to try to keep me from communicating with you. It was Dilis's soldiers who hurt me. On her orders. I heard her give the order to have me beaten. And I'm certain she was behind everything else, as well."

"Every—Khunnier, Renbor said that, that you had been…"

"I was tricked," Khunnier said quietly. He was staring at the ceiling now. "I thought—they promised to let me escape, you see. And they did. Only… it was all part of Dilis's plan. Which means I didn't need to barter that coin to escape, they would have figured out some other excuse if I had refused. And they did that on Dilis's orders too."

Khunnier's voice sank to a whisper. "All just to keep me off balance. So I wouldn't pay enough attention to the infection on my arm, and realize I was a biobomb with legs. Dilis must have ordered Rosho to take me. She must have figured, I'd either fall in love or be traumatized for life. Either would suit her purposes. As long as it distracted me from realizing she was using me to deliver a biological weapon."

End of Chapter 55. Story continues in Chapter 56.


	56. Chapter 56

Punch 56

A beer with G'Kar in the tiny ship's galley turned into a nightly gathering of everyone who was off duty. Held in the denn'bok practice room, the gathering was informal as could be, with most of the crew and their famous guests sitting on mats on the floor.

Over the past few days, the gathering had transformed from a worried and shell-shocked group of strangers to a party among relaxed friends. And today they were celebrating the last space battle in the Robot War. Another Whitestar had tracked down the last of the invading robot ships, in Relitan space. Now the problem was contained to Kolu and Desnara, and only ground combat remained.

And given the thoroughness with which Dilis's biological warfare attack had taken out the androids on Khunnier's ship, it was probable that Desnara would turn out to be a relief mission rather than a military campaign. So there was plenty to celebrate.

G'Kar, Lyta, the two Koluans, and a few young Minbari were gathered in a circle, discussing Omm spirituality and G'Kar's book. Carla thought Khunnier would have enjoyed being part of that conversation, being originally religious caste. But Khunnier was still in isolation in the ship's infirmary.

Dammit! How could Dilis have done that to someone she had served with on this ship? And the rest of what she did!

Carla felt the killing rage come over her again. Her hands started to shake. Her arms and head twitched.

"Hey," said Sheridan. "You're not about to break any more noses, are you?"

Firuun turned around and looked at Carla. "No, she isn't," Firuun rumbled, "because we have gravity on our side."

"Ah God," Carla grated, trying to get her jerking arms under control.

The room went quiet. Everyone was looking at her.

"Gravity?" Sheridan asked.

Carla exploded up off the floor, arms out like a linebacker about to make an interception, and went for the nearest person. Who happened to be Sheridan.

But the tackle was made by Firuun.

The air whooshed out of Carla as she hit the deck with Firuun on top of her.

Backing up a step, Sheridan said, "Gravity. Right."

Firuun said, "No human woman benches 800 kilos." Then his eyes twinkled. "Not even you, dear. I know what you need."

He scooped her up and strode briskly off with her in his arms. Firuun knew all about Carla's bloodlust, and what she usually did when there was no one handy to kill.

But right then Carla was thinking about Khunnier, and was not excited in that way. Part way down the corridor, Carla said, "Put me down, Firuun."

He made a rumbling noise, part growl, part purr. She pushed against him, but she had been jerking when he first picked her up, and he did not interpret the pushing movement as a struggle.

They were already crossing main engineering. Firuun could walk really fast on his long legs when he was motivated.

"Really, put me down. I don't feel like it," Carla said.

Firuun's steps rang on the catwalk. A pair of engineering techs glanced up at them, and then grinned and winked at each other.

Carla wondered what would happen if she called out to her crew for help. Against Firuun. Their clan chief.

Probably not much. The crew might not have known about the killing rage before, but everyone certainly did now, after she had punched G'Kar in the nose. That had gotten all over the ship before the two of them had had their first beer. And that was several days ago. Nobody was going to interfere with Firuun trying to defuse the unexploded Carla.

Firuun climbed the metal rungs and swung open the hatch. He had Carla in one hand now, and she renewed her struggles, but he had both her arms tightly clamped to her side. Firuun dragged her into the little pocket, and the blue-green lights came on and danced on the ceiling.

He started getting her out of her uniform.

"Firuun, stop. I don't feel sexy. I'm totally creeped out by what happened to Khunnier."

Firuun stopped. Just for a moment, staring at Carla's exposed breasts. Then his expression turned serious and he pulled her shirt the rest of the way off.

"Hey!" Carla protested.

"What is that," Firuun rumbled.

Carla lifted her head and looked down at herself. "What is what?

Firuun pushed one of her breasts up. His touch felt icy cold. "That rash."

The area underneath her breast had red dots on it. "Oh. I don't know. In Valen's name, please, not smallpox."

"You need the doctor." Firuun reached for her discarded shirt, but then cocked his head and regarded her. "Another half hour, more or less, won't make any difference."

"Firuun!"

"If it is smallpox, the only medicine for it is still eight days away at maximum speed. And we're heading for it anyway, so we would not do anything differently if it was. It's too late to get you to isolation. The whole ship's contaminated by now."

Firuun pulled off the rest of her clothes.

Carla did not bother trying to stop him. He would just pin her wrists. They had done that in play so many times he would probably find it encouraging, part of their normal foreplay.

Carla turned her face away. "Don't. I told you—"

"I know." Firuun rolled off of her. "What happened to Khunnier is bothering you. I'd hoped you'd get over feeling disgusted by my body once we got started."

"What? That's not—Oh. Oh, Firuun, I'm sorry. I forgot you don't actually know what happened to Khunnier. Except for being infected with smallpox."

"What is it, then? I thought, you must have made the connection about where the disease came from. Dilis must have harvested it from her own body, and obviously she must have gotten it from me."

"I'm not blaming you," Carla said, "and I'm certainly not disgusted by you."

"Then why won't you look at me?" Firuun sounded completely pathetic.

Carla looked at him for a moment, but then her face slid away again, and a tear rolled down her temple into her hair.

"I didn't tell you because, because Renbor only told me because I'm the Captain, or maybe because he wanted my expert advice on the subject. I haven't told anybody, not even Entilza Delenn. And it is her business what happens to her Rangers."

Carla wiped the tear away, pulled her shirt over her and curled up next to Firuun. "But I guess I should tell you, since it's affecting my level of—our relationship."

"Carla, you're not about to tell me Khunnier was raped, are you?"

"He says he wasn't. I've gone to talk with him every day in the infirmary. He has trouble talking about it, but he will, if I'm patient and keep reminding him I know how he feels. He says he let them, because they told him they'd let him go if he did. And because he had already been beaten, on Dilis's direct orders."

"What?"

"Yeah. Khunnier says she kept threatening to have her Desnaran soldiers do things to him, including rape and some unspecified torture. He claims it was his choice to let three Desnarans use him so he could avoid that. But I say the exact same thing about the work details on Tifar, and I know in my heart that if it wasn't exactly rape, it was certainly some kind of sex crime or other. I don't like to admit that, but it's true."

"I can't believe it," Firuun said. "Dilis has a gentle soul. She was always so good with Sharn."

"A person can be kind to their family and still have no boundaries at all when it comes to war."

"Well, that's true," Firuun agreed. "But Dilis and Khunnier are on the same side. I mean, it's one thing to do those things to an enemy… sorry."

"No, you're right. I think that's why I had an easier time forgiving Comac than forgiving Earth Force for kicking me out and shipping me off to an insane asylum. They were supposed to help me."

There was a pause. Firuun asked "What now?"

"Now? Now you just hold me, Firuun."

Firuun wrapped a black-clothed arm around her. She was still facing away from him, but his war armor did not encourage crying on his shoulder, or into his chest either. It had decorations in precisely those places where a person might seek comfort, as if it had been designed to keep members of the warrior caste from seeking or offering comfort to each other. To keep them strong, and discourage displays of emotion other than homicidal anger, or the joy of combat.

Or lust. There were no uncomfortable metal studs on his armor on the parts that touched her skin when he was taking her, as long as he propped himself up on his hands or elbows and kept his chestplate off of her.

"So what happens with Khunnier?" Firuun asked.

"When he's recovered from the smallpox, we'll see if he wants to resume his duties, or go home for a while, or what. I've already offered to ask Venmer to recommend a counselor. But Khunnier says he doesn't need one. He'll change his mind about that, eventually. But we'll give him whatever time he needs. Some people take longer than others to be ready to talk through their experiences. Al Jabar didn't join the support group for years. He almost missed it, in fact. By the time he found us, Ike was already in the process of transforming the group from the Loribond Survivors Support Group into the FPFP."

"I got the impression Al Jabar was not interested in friendship with Minbari."

Carla snorted. "You can say that again. A lot of people quit the group when Ike changed it."

Firuun spooned up to Carla. She felt his Minbari hardness pressed up against her; it meant nothing, always ready, bearing no messages about his state of arousal.

Firuun whispered, "I still can't believe Dilis would do such a thing. I didn't spend much time with her, growing up. That's the way it is for those who serve on war cruisers. No bringing the children along. And of course, as a Windsword, she's been raised to believe that if you're going to wage war, you should wage total war. No half measures. No bumbling around getting people killed for the sake of 'honor'. No rules. But this?"

Carla had nothing to say. She just put a hand over his hand.

Firuun said, "And what happens now with Dilis?"

"There's no reason anything needs to happen," Carla said. "She's still manufacturing the cure for the Drakh plague. I already talked this over with Khunnier. He says, if Dilis goes to prison, she won't be on the Technomage ship when she comes back and meets herself. It would alter the timeline. We might not have believed Galen if he had not come back from the future with someone we knew. Move against Dilis and we could end up destroying the Earth."

"You're going to cover it up?"

"The story about the smallpox is already out. The rest… It really isn't my decision. I'm going to have to make a report to Entilza. Whether or not Dilis gets a free pass on her actions because she's still going to save the Earth sometime in the future, well. I'm pretty sure Entilza will say what she always says. Save the Earth. But it's her decision. I'll put off the report until after we deal with the contagion on this ship, though. Maybe I'll be lucky and die before I have to report."

"Don't say that. You'll be fine. There's medicine, and we'll have it soon." Firuun sat up. "Come on. Let's get you to sickbay."

End of Chapter 56. Story continues in Chapter 57.


	57. Chapter 57

Punch 57

"I didn't see that," said Sheridan. "And neither did the rest of you."

The Minbari bowed their heads respectfully in acknowledgement of the order.

Lyta said, "Oh come on, Sheridan. I thought Minbari didn't lie."

"Sure they do," Sheridan said. "To save face for their Captain, you bet they will."

G'Kar said, "I trust you are planning to do something about her random violence? Before she moves on from noses to, oh…"

"Yes," Sheridan interrupted. "I'll make sure the ship's doctor consults with the best specialists."

Lyta said, "So you do think she's a lunatic."

"She's just a person with a problem."

Lyta rolled her eyes. "She's bonkers, Sheridan. She belongs in an Adjustment Center."

"I can't do that to her. Take away her ship, her career, her friends, even contact with her husband? She'd have no reason for living."

The Omm youth brushed a hand across a space an inch above Lyta's shoulder. She turned as if he had touched her. To the Koluan, and to Vorlon-altered Lyta, he had; he had touched her aura, her astral body.

Lyta's eyes went solid dark for a second as she communicated with the Omm.

G'Kar took the sight in stride; he had seen Lyta use her powers many times in their travels together. But Sheridan looked nervous to be reminded of the doomsday weapon in their midst, and the Minbari warriors seemed to draw back into themselves, shrinking away in gesture and eye, although they did not physically give ground.

Sounding somewhat shaken, Lyta said, "I'll consider it."

Sheridan shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. "Damn, it's cold in here."

The Koluan woman agreed, "Yes, it seems like it to me, too. Did they change the environmental controls since yesterday?"

G'Kar said, "To me it seems unaccountably hot."

One of the Minbari said, "Ship. Environmental reading. Has the ship's temperature changed since yesterday?"

"Negative," replied Whitestar 97. The computer voice sounded much like the computer voice in any other ship or station, but coming from the living machine, it implied a touch of sentience with which no one was comfortable now, with the recent robot war.

The warrior shrugged, a gesture he had copied from his Captain. "I thought it was cold in here, too."

"So did I," said another Minbari.

"Me, too," said Lyta.

"Oh, oh," said Sheridan. "Ship. Has the temperature of the people changed since yesterday?"

"Affirmative. All humans are up between two to three degrees. 84 of Minbari are up two degrees. All Koluans are up, the female five degrees and the male four degrees. The Narn is down one degree."

"Hell," said Sheridan.

"Smallpox," said the Koluan youth.

"Are we all going to die?" asked one of the Minbari.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," said Sheridan. "Let's get Renbor up here."

One of the Minbari called the ship's doctor to attend on them.

The young Omm fellow said, "This isn't fun anymore. Having a body. It's supposed to be a sensory buffet, all art and music and wine, pomp and pageantry, all a dress-up game. I don't want to suffer and die."

The Koluan woman said, "That's the risk we all took."

"You did," said the youth. "I was born on Kolu."

"Do you want to ascend?" the woman asked. "No one's going to stop you. Anybody can do it any time, disease or just boredom."

"I didn't really pay that much attention to studying the Way."

She sighed dramatically. "I'll help you. If it turns out we're going to really get sick, I might even go with you. What about you, Lyta? Want to come with us?"

"Ascend?" Lyta asked.

"Sure," said the woman. "You've been touched by the Vorlon. Your mind is more than powerful enough. Even the slightest touch is enough to open the door to the Way. You could learn it. So could you, President Sheridan. And you, G'Kar."

"I?" asked G'Kar. "I was never touched by the Vorlon."

"Yes, you were," said the youth. "We can all feel it. All the Koluans."

"My vision… no. It can't be. My vision came to me through a drug that temporarily… oh. I see. Temporarily opened me to a telepathic ability that is not natural to Narns. So I touched Kosh's mind, too, while I was attacking Londo?"

The youth made a gesture that was probably his species' equivalent of a shrug. "However it happened, I can feel the light in your soul. The doorway to the next level of being."

"What about you, Sheridan?" asked G'Kar. "Coming with us?"

Sheridan shook his head slowly. "No. No, I'm not. I'll take my chances with the medicine that's on its way. I'm not leaving Delenn behind until my time is up."

End of Chaptr 57. Story continues in Chapter 58.


	58. Chapter 58

Punch 58

Khunnier turned over on the slanted infirmary bed. There was nothing to do. He had been raised religious caste; his teachers would be ashamed of him for giving in to boredom instead of using his quiet time to meditate. But he had hated that life. He had wanted to be a Ranger.

And look where it had gotten him. His eyes were sticky, he had itchy sores all over his skin, he was shivering with fever despite the blankets thrown over him, all the places where he had been jabbed on Desnara ached from the treatments to control infection, and he couldn't stop thinking about Rosho, and Trebo and Frel, and Dilis, and how they had used him.

He had thought he was in a conspiracy with Rosho to help him escape. And all along, the escape plan had been part of Dilis's strategy to wipe out the androids. Which meant they would have found some other excuse to let Khunnier go if he had not bent over for the Desnarans. It was all for nothing.

Carla came in. Khunnier started to turn away. He didn't want to wallow in self-pity in front of her; he had endured so much less that the very sight of her made him ashamed of his weakness.

Then he noticed she was not wearing a mask and gown. "Carla?"

Firuun was right behind her. They ignored Khunnier, looked around sickbay and poked into the storage areas looking for Renbor.

"He's up in the practice room," Khunnier called out, coughing. "Someone called him over there."

Carla and Firuun went over to Khunnier. "How are you today?" Carla asked.

"Contagious," Khunnier said. "Where's your mask?"

Carla shook her head shallowly. "I won't need one anymore."

Just then, Renbor came in with G'Kar and the two Koluans. He deactivated the sterile field at the door and pushed the isolation lock back into the recessed wall.

"Oh no," Khunnier rasped. "Does that mean it's all over the ship?"

"It is," Renbor said. "I don't know what went wrong."

"Carla," said Khunnier. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Carla said.

"I should not have been aboard that ship in the first place," Khunnier said.

"What, go out in a blaze of glory?" Carla asked. "Your mission was to discover information and report back, not throw your life away trying to be heroic. You succeeded in your mission."

Khunnier nodded.

\

The viewing room was a popular place today. The two sick Omm used it to talk to Councilor Thoss. Sheridan used it to talk to Delenn. And Carla used it to call Ilienn, and ask for her ashes to be scattered at sea, just in case she didn't survive. Ilienn promised to sing for her.

Carla didn't even think of trying to call her parents until some of her crew members started calling theirs. And they weren't even going to die. Firuun was positive the disease would not kill Minbari.

It turned out, several other Windswords onboard had also already had smallpox. The ones who had been small children living in the clan fortress when Firuun came back from the war. Like humans, Minbari could not get the disease a second time once they had had it. Unlike humans, their immune systems did not manufacture specialized antibodies to particular diseases with templates that stuck around forever. Minbari bodies stored actual disease samples in specialized cache cells; that was how Dilis had managed to manufacture the disease after having had it twenty years prior. Normally the cache cells were not infectious, but alien diseases sometimes had dormancy periods in which the body mostly fought them off, then they flared up again before either killing the host or being defeated permanently. Firuun's case had flared up after he went home.

Carla thought about it for several minutes. Then she decided she had nothing to say to them.

Over the next several days, the two Koluans studied their holy principles of ascension, and shared them with everyone, even those whose minds were not powerful enough to transform their physical bodies into energy. Delenn participated in the study sessions via the holographic projectors in the viewing room. This was the only way she could convince Sheridan to join in the study; he did not want to leave her behind, but she did not want him to risk death. Also Delenn was naturally inclined to the spiritual, so the study was of interest to her for its own sake.

Before long, everyone except Firuun and three other Windswords, including the pilot but not the gunner, were too sick to do much of anthing.

That was when Lyta, G'Kar, and the two Omm gave up their bodies and became beings of light.

"You can still join us, Sheridan," G'Kar said.

Sheridan shook his head. "I'm staying right here. I'm going to survive this disease, with the help of the medicine that's on its way. Then all I'll need is a little plastic surgery to get rid of the pockmarks, and I'll be as good as new. And on track for my appointment with Kosh and Lorien when my twenty years are up."

Lyta's eyes glowed white. Then her whole body went white and disappeared. The Koluans were next, and then G'Kar. The light was incredible. Transcendant. Beautiful. But remote, like a vision of things far away.

Things mere mortals could not understand.

And then they were gone.

End of Chapter 58. Story continues in Chapter 59.


	59. Chapter 59

Punch 59

Carla hung in her bed harness, drenched with sweat. Every other sleeping platform was full of sick Minbari. And the walls were lined with fevered crew propped up against the wall.

Because the Whitestar crew normally had most of the ship's company awake at any given time, and its designers were trying to save internal volume to maximize the engine to mass ratio, there were not enough sleeping platforms for everyone. The few warriors who were not sick slept at their stations: the pilot on the bridge, Firuun in the engine room, and three other crewmen in the hallway outside sickbay, where they were tending the worst cases. The ill crewmembers in the sleeping room tended each other.

Whitestar 97 was alone in hyperspace. Delenn's ship had responded to a distress signal and broken off its escort of Whitestar 97. The pilot had assured her that the plague ship was still a Whitestar and could handle whatever it encountered.

A light like the sun came right through Carla's eyes. She opened them and blinked, and rubbed sand out of them.

Lyta was standing in front of her.

"My fever's gotten worse," Carla muttered. "Now I'm seeing things."

Lyta moved, and it became clear that she was only pretending to walk forwards. Her feet sank an inch through the floor. "No, I'm really here," Lyta said, "but no one else can see me."

"Great. I have an invisible friend. This will do wonders for my reputation as a dangerously violent madwoman."

"Shut up and pay attention," Lyta snapped. "You know what it's like to be an outcast."

"Yes," Carla responded soberly.

"There was no place for me in the world of flesh. G'Kar tried to provide one in our explorations, but everywhere we went, I either had to pretend to be his airheaded trophy and keep my powers a secret or end up either being worshipped or chased out by a mob intent on burning me as a witch."

Lyta's expression turned slightly amused. "Or pretend that G'Kar had the power, but he hated that. You should have seen his face the time I made him walk on water. In front of another Narn."

Carla's mouth quirked up too. She could just picture that. She had gotten to know G'Kar these past few days, and knew how hard he tried to avoid becoming an icon to his people.

"So what are you doing here?" Carla asked. "You won. You're an energy being now."

"Yes. I triumphed over all that," Lyta said sadly. "I'm an Ascended One. But I still don't fit in. Everyone else here is spiritually advanced, like G'Kar. But I'm a weapon. Like Khunnier. A tool made for another's purpose. Altered by the Vorlons to serve them, my mind's power increased far past anything any but the most advanced human should be capable of, it became possible for me to translate into energy. But I'm still Lyta Alexander. Not G'Kar, or the Omm, or the very few humans—former humans-- I've found in the Ascended community. You might have heard of them. Tammuz. Buddha. Odhinn. There's one here who goes by Yesu ben Yosef. I think you know who I mean."

"In Valen's name," Carla whispered.

"Him too."

"Him too? You met Valen?"

"Actually, everybody calls him Jeff."

Carla rubbed her eyes again, and sighed. "So, why tell me?"

"Because you're dying."

"Oh. Shit. But the medicine…"

Lyta shook her head slowly. "The Ascended are still subject to time's arrow. We don't exist in another dimension. We've just translated from matter to energy, which is something physical beings do all the time. Solar energy becomes plant matter, plant matter becomes animal matter, animals use the plant sugars to create locomotion, translating it back to energy. No metaphysics, just physics, and chemistry and biology. But the Ascended do have senses that extend forwards and backwards in time."

"You can see the future."

"A little bit, just pieces, and not very far. I think most of the rest of the Ascended can see farther."

"And? So? You keep trying to explain who you are. What do you want?"

Amusement flashed over Lyta's face again. "You really don't want to say that around people educated by the Vorlons."

Carla crossed her arms over her bed webbing and gave Lyta the hairy eyeball.

"Alright, Carla. I want you to join me. I'm lonely. I'd like to have a friend."

"I can't ascend. I was never touched by a Vorlon."

"I am a Vorlon now, more or less. At the moment of your death, if you desire it, I could help you ascend."

Just then the ship shook and reverberated, and several Minbari were tossed from their platforms.

The intercom blatted and the pilot's voice shouted, "Pirates! They're attacking the medicine ship! And us! The distress signal that the other Whitestar responded to must have been a fake. Captain, if you can still stand up—"

Carla was already out of her webbing. "I'm on my way."

End of Chapter 59. Story continues in Chapter 60.


	60. Chapter 60

Punch 60

Carla's hands on the controls shook and the ship's guns stuttered. But the gunner was too dizzy to get out of bed, and the pilot could not operate both consoles at once.

The pirates weren't running. Not yet. They were locked onto the transport ship with a flex tube, and must still have a boarding party aboard.

Carla staggered over to the communications console and hit the intercom. "Firuun. Get a boarding party together. Anybody who can walk and shoot straight."

Down in Engineer's Firuun acknowledged the order and went to round up the three able bodied people acting as orderlies in sickbay, and as many of the ill in the sleeping room as could walk a straight line. They armored up in the ready room and waited for the go signal.

The transport ship's lock was already in use by the raiders, and the Whitestar did not come equipped with a breeching pod like a war cruiser. So the Whitestar's pilot locked onto the pirate ship.

Renbor was sick too, but he could stagger around well enough to set up the sterile field at the lock and decon the outsides of the space suits. Spreading smallpox to the crew of the transport ship was not acceptable.

Firuun took his three well crewmembers with him and left the sick to guard the entrance. Four warriors, against who knew how many raiders.

"The odds are against us," Firuun said. "So no hesitation. I want you to fight like you did in the Robot War. I know it's going to be harder, because not everything that moves will necessarily be an enemy. There might be civilians on the raider ship, but if it's not in a cell or chained up, assume it's hostile. The transport ship carrying the medicine is not a civilian ship, it's a military transport, and every member of the crew will be in Earth Force uniform. So if you see what looks like a civilian, it's probably a pirate. If it has a weapon, kill it. If it looks like it might have a weapon, kill it. If it's stark naked in the shower, kill it anyway, because we can't afford to take chances."

These young Windswords no longer looked very young around the eyes. There was no shock, no warring conscience, only grim determination. They knew their Captain's life, and the life of the blessed Sheridan, depended on recovering the medicine.

"Any questions?"

"Is this an order of No Mercy, clan chief?" asked Henonn. He must have been a baby when he had gotten the smallpox the first time.

Firuun stared into the bowl of his helmet for a second. Then he said, "Yes. Give no quarter to the raiders." Then he put on his helmet and picked up his energy rifle.

The pirates did not have a detail guarding their airlock. The four Minbari warriors were halfway through the pirate ship before they encountered any resistance. It was a group of six raiders rushing back aboard when they realized their own ship was under attack. They did not come on in any kind of orderly formation, just running and waving their eccentric personal weapons.

Firuun's warriors exchanged fire with the raiders from behind a corner of the corridor. Each of the four Minbari rotated fire, so that if one of them had to reload a new energy pack, three others would still be firing.

The raiders did not have that kind of fire discipline, and furthermore they were carrying antipersonelle fletchette guns rather than beam weapons, and the Minbari were able to rush them when they ran out of ammo and started to reload.

The Minbari charged, firing as they went. Four Minbari dropped four raiders. Firuun led the charge, and reached the raiders before his followers did. One raider stuck him in the side with a bayonette, but Firuun grabbed both surviving raiders' heads and bashed them together. One went unconscious immediately and fell down, dropping his weapon. The other swung at Firuun, but another of the Minbari reached him and shot him through the neck.

Henonn squatted down and delivered the coup de grace to the unconscious raider in the back of the head.

The Minbari swept the rest of the pirate ship, making several kills. Then they moved on to the transport ship. Here, there were bodies littered all over the deck, raider and Earth Force. The military uniforms bore the patch of a noncombat transport company. Some of them had empty sidearm holsters. The human bodies were about three out of four female.

Abruptly there were raiders everywhere, and smoke from a real gunpowder slug thrower. The bullet holed the side of the transport ship, and the air whistled out, sucking papers and furniture with it.

Two of the Minbari were fine in their spacesuits, but Firuun's had been damaged by the blade and another had taken a bullet in the thigh. The two of them both reacted to the breech by putting a hand over the holes in their armor, to keep in the air until the armor could be patched, as they had been taught. But neither could fire their energy rifles one handed, so they were temporarily out of the fight.

The raiders did not have on space armor at all, though, not even the one with firearm. Some of them ran, and others glanced at the hole. The distraction and the retreating backs drew fire from the two Minbari left firing.

Then a throw pillow stuck over the hole, and the whistle reduced to a gentle sigh.

Firuun and his clansman let go of their armor and rejoined the firing, and mowed down the undisciplined raiders. As soon as the enemy were dead, Firuun brought out a patch kit and took care of his space suit and the other warrior's suit.

Then they resumed their sweep.

They encountered raiders again in the ship's hold. Just two raiders, both in unarmored civilian space suits, wearing pistols but not carrying them in their hands.

The hold was open to space, and the two raiders were moving the cargo out with jet powered zero-G dollies.

The inner hold door would not open while there was vacuum on the other side.

"Safety measure," Firuun snorted. He switched his energy rifle to a low power mode and used it like a blowtorch, opening up the wall to expose the circuitry. Then he reached into the wiring with the somewhat clumsy gloves of his space armor—for the first time he wished he were in a powered engineering worksuit instead—and hotwired the door.

It slid open and pulled the four Minbari into the hold. They were linked hand to belt like skydivers, and piled onto one of the pirates in formation. Henonn shot the raider.

Then the other raider pulled out a gun and tried to return fire, but the gunpowder would not go off without oxygen. The raider grabbed the controls of the jet dolly instead, and rammed the Minbari with it.

The warriors scattered, but Henonn, still inexperienced, tried to jump straight up as if he were in zero gravity. But he was still inside the hold, despite being in vacuum. The dolly ran over him and crushed him.

The raider clung onto the dolly and jetted outside, riding it like a skateboard. It still had boxes on it, and Firuun realized the raider was getting away with the cargo.

He jumped out into space and grabbed onto the cargo deck. The jet blasted in his face, and he felt the intense heat right through his space armor.

He wrapped his legs around the wheels and stuck the end of his energy rifle in the exhaust tube, and fired. The jet dolly exploded spectacularly. The raider fell away in two pieces. Shrapnel bounced off of Firuun's faceplate and stuck partway into his armor on his arms and chest, but did not pierce it.

The cargo boxes!

They were opening! Spilling their contents, tubes floating away in space. The tubes were open, leaking, liquid spraying and turning to ice.

There was only one intact box left! Firuun vaulted off the jet dolly like a swimmer pushing off from the side of the pool. He grabbed the box in both arms and hung on.

He tumbled.

He was drifting in space.

Again.

End of Chapter 60. Story continues in Chapter 61.


	61. Chapter 61

Punch 61

Firuun closed his eyes on the darkness. He could not look at the stars wheeling around him. He never wanted to go to space again.

"In Valen's name," Firuun began. But he could not complete the prayer. He had not prayed to Valen since his capture in the Earth-Minbari war. Not because he did not believe in Valen, as he claimed, but because he believed too much. He had prayed for a way out of his marriage, and Valen had given it to him. With the death of his first wife about the Black Star.

And now he was outside again, helpless and running out of air. Again. The patch on his suit would not hold forever, especially with the hard use he had put his space armor through in combat to recover this one last box.

"If only I could be rescued," Firuun thought, "I'll go home to the clan fortress and…" but his mind shied away from promises as well as prayers.

Then a tether snagged him and his tumble stopped hard. He opened his eyes. Two Windswords had fought the cargo handling ropes. And they knew how to use them, thanks to Carla's insistence on her crew learning to load their own cargo. They reeled him in.

Henonn's blood ice was all over the cargo bay. The jet dolly had knocked him into a sharp crate opener. He was dead.

\

"Who would steal medicine?" moaned one of the sick leaning against the wall in sickbay.

"I imagine it's probably pretty valuable," Carla coughed.

Renbor tossed in a fever and could not be roused. But it was obvious even to non medical personnel that the only box of medicine that was salvageable was the one Firuun had been holding onto when they brought him in. And Renbor had been relying on the ship's computer for treating this unfamiliar human disease anyway.

And there were medical experts on hand. Four humans in biosuits stood in the sickbay. They were all that was left of the transport ship's crew, and they had only saved themselves by hiding in the transport ship's ductwork. One was a doctor, one a nurse, and two were biowarfare research scientists, the only people really familiar with smallpox.

Firuun could not see their faces very well through their biosuits, but one of them looked old enough to have been one of the people who had experimented on him, and thus indirectly caused this disaster. But Firuun did not ask if he had participated in that. This must be how Carla felt every time she saw a Minbari warrior old enough to have been in the war. How could she go through life mingling with warriors, and not wonder if any of them had served on Tifar, or if any of them had ever lain with her on a work detail aboard a passing ship? She must wonder. She must wonder all the time.

She had probably wondered that about him, when she first met him. Or, maybe not. His distinctive height might have made her reasonably sure she had not seen him before. Maybe for once, instead of intimidating people, his height had been reassuring.

Well, that was not a very productive line of thought. "Could it be stretched?" Firuun asked. "Half doses, just enough for more of the medicine to be shipped out here before it runs out?"

The doctor, a middle aged woman, shook her head. The gesture looked odd inside her biosuit. "There isn't any more. Earth has no reason to mass produce a cure for a disease that's been extinct outside of tightly controlled government labs for the last two hundred years."

Firuun looked at Carla, curled up on the sickbay floor under a silvery heat-reflective blanket. Sheridan was on the floor too, the humans preferring to lie flat. The sick Minbari who were not on sleeping platforms were arrayed against the walls.

Carla coughed, "How many can you save?"

The older scientist said confidently, "Smallpox won't kill Minbari."

Firuun's suspicions sharpened. The old man sounded like he really knew, not just read about it.

The nurse asked, "So we only treat the humans?"

The doctor said, "No, you don't understand. There's only enough here for one."

"One," Sheridan grated. "One person?"

"Yes," said the doctor.

Sheridan looked up at Firuun. It was strange to see him lying on the floor like that. Once, Firuun had looked up at him from the deck of the Lexington. And today Firuun had been out in space again. Not quite déjà vu. An odd reversal.

Sheridan said, "Among humans, it's customary to save the women and children first."

Carla said, "I am Anla'shok. I live for the One. I die for the One."

Firuun paled and knelt down beside her. He took her hand in his. Their matching gold and silver wedding rings gleamed on their joined hands.

Sheridan coughed. He tried to sit up, but grew too dizzy and sank back to the floor. "Delenn wouldn't order—No. I'm wrong. She would."

The silence stretched on agonizingly.

Sheridan said, "I could ascend."

"So could I," said Carla. "Lyta will help me. She told me so."

"Oh. Lyta." Sheridan stroked his beard in thought. "Do you want to ascend?"

"I think so," said Carla. "Lyta said she met Valen."

At this, Khunnier stirred on one of the platforms. But he did not say anything.

Carla told the doctor, "Give the medicine to Sheridan."

Firuun wept and brought Carla's ring hand to his lips, and kissed her hand.

Carla pulled her hand from his and reached up and took him by his bone crest and pulled his face down to hers. He kissed her swollen lips. She whispered, "Firuun. Make love to me. One last time."

Firuun picked her up and carried her out the door.

End of Chapter 61. Story continues in Chapter 62.


	62. Chapter 62

Punch 62

"Was the distress signal a fake?" Sheridan asked Delenn. He was sitting in a Carla's old countergrav chair in the viewing room.

"No, but it was a diversion. The raiders genuinely hit a passenger liner, but did not bother to board and rob it. We will be here tending to the survivors until another ship can get here and take them all aboard. There are far too many for a Whitestar's environmental system to handle."

"Damn."

David started to cry. Delenn bounced him, and the baby quieted right away. "Humans are strange," Delenn said. "A Minbari baby would hate that. They don't like motion until their head bones grow out."

"Humans are born with motion senses. It's in our inner ears."

"John, you do not look good. When will the medicine start working?"

"I haven't taken it yet."

"J—" Delenn glanced at David and lowered her voice. "Why not?"

"The battle with the raiders destroyed most of it. There's only enough medicine for one person. Everybody on board seems to think I should have it because I'm the President. Because I'm more important than everybody else. But that's not me, Delenn. That's not what I'm all about."

"Of course. You have always been ready to exercise the Third Principle of Sentient Life. The capacity for self-sacrifice. But John, they are right. The Alliance is still new and fragile. You hold it together with the force of your personality and your reputation as both a victorious war leader and a religious figure who returned from the dead. Think how many people would be harmed if the Alliance were to fail, and the peace shatter back into warring species each only looking out for itself."

Sheridan sighed. "There is that."

"And John. There is also your family. When we came out here, I told you I could not set aside everything else for our child, but you were right. He needs his parents. And I need you, John. I love you."

Sheridan flashed his famous grin. "I love you too, Delenn."

"What's so funny?"

"You know that guy who asked us if we ever fight? I think he was some kind of reporter."

"How could I forget. You said, 'Of course we fight. She wins. But then she surrenders, so it's OK.' If I had not been afraid there might be a camera concealed somewhere, I think I would have tried out that thing I read about in an old human child care manual, called 'spanking'."

Sheridan laughed from the safety of the viewing room dozens of light years from the one Delenn was in. "Well, it turned out that way, didn't it? You won, and came along, with David. But now you see it my way."

"I suppose," Delenn said. Then her face turned serious. "Take the medicine, John. The galaxy needs you. And it would break my heart to lose you now."

"Alright, Delenn. I'll take it. I just have a hard time with the idea of a woman sacrificing her life for mine. It feels wrong."

"Carla. Oh."

"Yes. This ship is going to need another Captain."

\

Carla sighed and let her eyes close. If she ascended, she would never be able to enjoy this kind of physical pleasure again. But that would be true if she simply died, too.

On the other hand, without a body, no one would ever be able to hurt her physically again either. The terrible disease would stop inflicting misery on her. She had not yearned this much for the cessation of pain since Tifar.

When she opened her eyes, Lyta was standing behind Firuun's shoulder. Lyta's head and shoulders were in the ceiling, but somehow Carla could still see them. But Lyta did not look transparent. Carla made a motion to rub her eyes, but Firuun was supporting his whole upper body on his hands, which were locked around Carla's wrists. Just like the first time they had been in this chamber together.

Lyta spoke, but Firuun did not notice her. "Are you going to be ready to go soon?"

Carla wondered how to respond to her without distracting Firuun. She wanted him to finish.

Lyta said, "Just think and I'll hear you."

Like this? Carla thought.

"Yes. That's how we communicate in the Ascended community."

What do I do?

"Just relax and open your mind. I'll do the rest."

Why me, Lyta? There are other people in the galaxy who are dying. I thought you didn't like me.

"I didn't. But that was because all I saw was someone who attacked G'Kar. I had a long conversation with him. And then I had an even longer one with Yesu ben Yosef. About forgiveness. And self-sacrifice. He's very proud of you."

Carla felt the corners of her eyes sting. She contained her tears; she did not want Firuun to see her crying in her last moments.

Lyta continued, "He's sad that you turned away from him. But he's happy that you turned to Jeff when you needed someone to believe in. They're good friends."

Now, Lyta, Carla thought. I'm going to cry if I stay here any longer.

Something shifted. Lyta looked even more solid than before, and the ship looked transparent. So did Firuun, and she could see a light within him. A grey light, like sad clouds heavy with rain concealing the sun.

She could no longer feel Firuun inside her.

Firuun stilled, eyes wide, then looked over his shoulder at the empty place where Carla was looking. Then he looked back at Carla, confused, afraid, and grief-stricken. He wept, and his tears fell right through her.

Then Carla rose from the floor, through Firuun. Firuun cried out and fell to the deck, crying loudly.

Then Carla saw Lyta as she really was, a form of light. She looked down at herself, and saw her own energy body, a glowing amorphous mass of thought, without a human shape, and yet retaining a Carla-image as a thought projection.

Firuun stilled and became silent, but did not sit up. He lay stretched out on the deck, face down, holding his face in his hands.

Then Carla saw other light beings. They all projected humanlike images of themselves. One had a long beard. He had a bigger nose than she had expected. "Welcome," said Yesu ben Yosef.

Another wore a hat pulled down so that only one eye showed. "Welcome, granddaughter. I am Odhinn, an ancestor from long ago. I have watched you for a long time. Because you are of my people, and you are a warrior, and because you lost your physical sight and gained insight, for such is my special care."

One looked like a human at first, but then morphed into a Minbari.

"Valen," Carla whispered.

Firuun sat up abruptly, banging his head on the ceiling. He looked around wildly. He had heard Carla's voice.

Jeffrey David Sinclair extended a hand in greeting. "Welcome, Carla of the Anla'shok."

Carla met his hand with a wavering arm-image and a tentacle of light. The two beings touched, and Carla felt a jolt of power.

Valen smiled. He was Valen again now, his features fully Minbari, dressed in the robes of Entilza.

"What will happen to Firuun's soul when he dies?" Carla asked.

"It will be reborn," said Valen.

"Firuun believed I was his soul mate. Will he ever be happy again, in any lifetime?"

"Of course," Valen smiled. "You were what he needed in this life. In the next, he will be on to the next lesson."

Then a light being projecting Asian features said, "But you could be reborn, if you wish. I do it all the time. I like to cobble."

"Cobble?" Carla asked. "You mean build things like Untika?"

He laughed. "I mean make shoes. My name is Padchen."

"Um, happy to make your acquaintance?"

Then more light beings came to introduce themselves. And then they all faded away. Except Lyta.

"Whenever you feel like it, if you want to talk to one of them, just think their name loudly."

"What are we going to do?" Carla asked.

"Have an adventure, of course," Lyta said. "I explored the Rim with G'Kar. But in this form, you and I can explore anywhere. Pass through walls, hear the greatest secrets. Let's go to Earth. I want to see what Bester's up to. You can pick the next destination."

"OK," Carla said. "But I already know what he's doing. It involves mass quantities of loritril."

"Really? This is going to be interesting."

End of Chapter 62. Story continues in Chapter 63.


	63. Chapter 63

Punch 63

Sheridan knocked on the hatch. "Firuun? Are you alive in there?"

A wordless howl echoed from the ship's appendix. Thumping sounds preceded the scraping of the hatch as it opened. Firuun was rumpled and wild eyed, but still looked better than Sheridan, who was walking but obviously recovering from smallpox.

Below the catwalk in main engineering, most of the ambulatory members of the ship's company looked up at them.

"They put you up to poking the wild le'shaar in its cave?"

"If that's anything like a bear, I guess so." Even in these terrible circumstances, Sheridan's natural good humor shone through, and he could not keep a smile from his face at this byplay.

Firuun stared at him for a moment. "I'll live. Will you?"

"Yes. How are you doing?"

"I'm trying really hard not to resent you right now, John."

"Ah. Of course." Sheridan looked down. That was a mistake; he was clinging to the ladder above the catwalk, and he was still slightly feverish. Looking down made him dizzy.

"Climb down, I'm coming out," Firuun rumbled.

Sheridan backed down the ladder unsteadily, and leaned against the wall on the catwalk. "Uh, Firuun, Ilienn called us, she um, said Carla asked her to have her body cremated and…"

"There is no body," Firuun boomed. "Carla disappeared like all the others."

"Ah. Good. Then she did ascend."

"She did," Firuun said. "And I heard her voice, after she disappeared. A name. Like she was greeting someone unexpectedly."

"Who?"

"Valen."

Below them, the crew stirred. Khunnier gasped, covered his mouth and started to cry.

Sheridan stared for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Who would have thought, huh? Taken up bodily into heaven. A bar fighting, beer guzzling old Devil-dog."

"Not so much beer guzzling, after the Battle of Tifar. She was what you and I helped make her: a Ranger. I think she would rather have died in combat."

"She did, in a way. Bioweapons are still weapons."

"That's true." Suddenly Firuun swore in English, the kind of thing Gropos say, and slammed the hatch shut with a resounding bang.

Sheridan jumped.

Firuun thundered, "Dilis is more what I made her than Carla ever could be. Biological warfare. Total war. That's what we taught her. The Windsword Clan. I knew Dilis had fastened on Deathwalker as a substitute mother figure after her mother died, and I let it happen because I didn't want to come home and raise her in the clan fortress, I wanted my career, I wanted to stay in space and fight. And fix things. Engines are so much easier to deal with than people."

"That's your nature, Firuun," Sheridan said.

"And it's Dilis's nature to let loose plagues and commit vile crimes—" Firuun broke off. He did not know how much anyone else knew about Dilis's actions against Khunnier.

"I'm glad you can see that, Firuun, because I've made an issue of it," Sheridan said. "I had to, to explain why the Alliance wasn't helping Desnara rebuild. I didn't mention her name, of course; she's kept her identity a secret from the interplanetary press, going by the title Lehba."

"News," Firuun said. "Oh no, what weird distortions are the reporters peddling now?"

"See for yourself. You can watch the news in the viewing room. But it's been four days, Firuun. Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"No. It's our way. Minbari grief."

"Oh."

Firuun climbed down to the engineering deck, and Sheridan followed. "Firuun, there's one thing I think you should know before you go anywhere on the ship. In fact, since almost everyone is here, this is as good a time as any to make the announcement. I've spoken to Delenn and she's made her decision. I know among the military caste it's customary for the first officer to assume the Captain's post when the Captain is gone; that's usually the way Earth Force works, too. But Whitestars are captained by Rangers."

"That's alright, John," Firuun sighed. "I was never ambitious for a command, or I would not have gone into engineering."

Sheridan stepped over to the crowd of crew and stopped before the shortest male there. "Congratulations, alyt Khunnier."

Khunnier looked up at Sheridan and wiped his tears on the sleeve of his Anla'shok uniform. "In Valen's name, I am honored to accept this post and this ship. Entilza veni, I live for the One, I die for the One."

End of Chapter 63. Look for the conclusion of the story in Chapter 64.


	64. Chapter 64

Punch 64

Claire Heilig was up on a pedestal. On top of the pedestal was a broad empty desk, and behind her, the ISN logo. She was anchoring the news. She had come up in the world.

Heilig's face was larger than life in Whitestar 97's viewing room. Firuun stood and watched alone.

Behind Heilig, footage of a burning city replaced the ISN logo.

"Our top story today, the latest on the recent Robot War on the outer rim. The planet Kolu is in negotiations to join the Interstellar Alliance. Kolu's neighbor Desnara, scene of the most devastation, is at odds with the Alliance. For more, we turn to our correspondent on the ground, Kim Lee. Kim?"

Kim appeared on the screen in front of a ruined building, looking well scrubbed but shaken. "Thank you, Claire. The Desnaran leader, Lehba, will not appear in public, but today his second in command, Rilo, gave a speech in which he blamed his own people for the war, saying Desnara got itself into this mess by being too lazy to do their own work, and from now on, Desnarans would do for themselves. They won't accept help from the Alliance and they won't rely on robots again. The work of rebuilding Desnara will be for Desnarans alone."

"Quite a statement. How is it there, Kim?"

"Most of the fires are out now, Claire. Crews have located and shut off the fuel lines from the underground robot city that ruptured and caught fire during the fighting. It took them a while to find the lines and figure out how to turn them off, since no living being on Desnara had ever seen them. There continues to be a lot of unrest here, with groups and individual Desnarans fighting each other for status in their society. It's a horrible thing to see, Claire. Squads of former soldiers sweep down the streets raping anything in their path. The government won't put a stop to it because they don't consider it a crime. There's no word for rape in the Desnaran language, it's never been illegal and they don't consider it immoral. To them it's as normal a social interaction as shaking hands."

"That's shocking, Kim. Do you think that might be what's behind the strong statement from President Sheridan's office, stating that Lehba is a war criminal and the Alliance would not respond to him even if he did appeal for humanitarian aid?"

"That, and the evidence of the use of biological weapons here, Claire. My cameraman and I had to be inoculated for smallpox before we could land on Desnara."

"Is there any chance that—"

Kim looked to the side, "Claire, we've got to go. A rape squad is coming." The image tilted to the side as the cameraman tucked his camera to his side to carry it, and the signal went out.

"Kim? Viewers, we'll get back with Kim later. Our hopes go with her and her cameraman. In a related story, the Anla'shok has reported the death of Captain Punch in the Robot War."

Behind Heilig, an old file photo of Carla as a young Marine popped up. "Carla Punch served in the Earth-Minbari war and then became active in the peace movement before eventually joining the Rangers."

The view changed to the Itma, its decks lined with Dalshon. Their singing came faintly through underneath Heilig's narration. "Her funeral was held today aboard the same oceangoing ship where she was married earlier this year. Her husband and crew could not attend because Captain Punch's Whitestar is quarantined due to the biological warfare attack that killed her. Also notably absent is her body. Minbari who attended her funeral speculate that the body may have been too contaminated to bring home."

The screen behind Heilig changed to a black-bar version of a security camera recording, with the operative parts hidden. Pastel mist swirled in the background, outside the window. Firuun felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. It was him and Carla on Rulomo.

"Later this evening, exclusive footage ISN has acquired from Mars police, who released documentary clips from the millionaire Bob Vauxhall porn bust, from a vid titled Rape on Rulomo, allegedly showing the future Captain Punch being attacked by the future alyt Teshar, whom she is reputed to have lured to his death twenty years later by marrying his brother, thus gaining the access that allowed her to hunt him down and kill him. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold. This made her a hero to a lot of humans, and oddly, to the Minbari as well."

"Damn reporters!" Firuun tried to yell but it came out a choked whisper, and he wept.

"But first, a word from our—oh, I've just been handed breaking news. The infamous Psi Corps secret police, the Psi Cops, have been caught banding together yet again, despite all of Earthgov's efforts to disband them, and full cooperation from the governments of the independent colonies. Ah, I believe we have some vid now."

The screen behind Heilig changed to an image of Alfred Bester being led away in handcuffs.

"An anonymous tip led Proxima 3 police to a warehouse full of the illegal hallucinogen loritril, known by its street name Dream. Six former Psi Cops were arrested on charges of dealing and money laundering. More on this story when we return."

ISN went to a commercial.

Firuun shut off the projection. He stood in the dark, alone in the viewing room, and cried until his head ached.

Then he heard a voice in his mind. It wasn't Carla's voice. It was Nelonn. "Come home, clan chief. I'll help you."

Firuun dried his eyes. Yes, his clan would help him, all of them, telepaths or not. But he would miss Carla until the day he died. He would never marry again. Families were for other people, people like Sheridan, with a wife and son. Firuun had a clan. That would have to be enough.

The End


End file.
